


The Hunt

by LittlefingersOtherAccent



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Past Rape/Non-con, so many characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlefingersOtherAccent/pseuds/LittlefingersOtherAccent
Summary: "When she was all frightened and scared like this, Sandor found it hard to believe that she’d dragged her sister through miles of woods at night to find safety. The girl was bird and wolf, porcelain and steel, tears and grit. She was a mystery, and Sandor had never been very good with mysteries."When Sandor was woken by a crash in the middle of the night, he wasn't prepared for two kids in a heap of trouble. Now he finds himself protecting those kids at all costs--even though the cost may be his life.TRIGGER WARNING: Lots of non-con (past rape, discussions, flashbacks, etc.) Please know your limits and judge accordingly!Because of the ages of those involved, I'm not planning on this being a romantic Sandor/Sansa story. More of a Protector!Sandor.





	1. Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first GOT fanfic. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! 
> 
> For reference, I'm picturing Sansa and Arya as they looked in late season 1/ very early season 2.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: I will NOT be giving trigger warnings on individual chapters, partly because there would be one on basically every chapter, and partly because I think specific trigger warnings interfere with the story. Please read the story summary and tags.

It wasn’t the knocking that woke him. It sure as shit could have; it must have gone on for a lifetime and a half, but it blended seamlessly into his dream. The knocking became more machine gun fire, and he was back in the desert, diving behind the wreckage of a humvee and letting loose with his automatic, taking off their fucking Taliban heads in far-off squelches of blood and bone—

CRASH.

Sandor sat up in bed, breathing hard. The wind was whipping tree branches around like kite strings, and for a moment he thought one must have hit a downstairs window. He sighed and climbed out of bed, shivering a little in his T-shirt and boxer shorts. The weather here was so fucking strange. He couldn’t get over it. One second the sun was boiling the trout in the river and the next it was as cold as a witch’s tit and raining like the world was about to end.  
Sandor grabbed his toolbox from on top of the dresser—best to board the bloody thing up before all of his stuff was ruined—and made his way to the top of the stairs.  
That’s when he heard it. A little rustling and shushing sound, like some asshole, no, multiple assholes were in his living room.  
Sandor saw red. Quietly he exchanged the toolbox in his hand for the gun in his bedside drawer, and padded downstairs with the lightness of a Hound. Who fucking dared to come into his house and steal from him? When he saw the fuckers, he’d wrap their intestines around their throat and strangle them to death.  
“Freeze!” The Hound jumped the last few steps, the floor shaking under his weight as he landed. He pointed his gun towards the dark corner the noises were emanating from. He barely had time to register the two shapes on his floor before the bigger one was moving.  
“No!” With a move too quick to follow, the big shape flung itself over the smaller one. Its voice was high-pitched, and almost…girly? Thoroughly confused, Sandor lowered his weapon slightly. A flash of lightning lit the sky outside and the profile of the scene before him momentarily came into view.  
_Fuck me sideways._  
Sandor lowered his gun completely, his mouth hanging open like an idiot. With his free hand, he scrambled his fingers over the wall until he found the light switch. The warm glow lit a scene so surreal that for a moment Sandor wondered if he was still dreaming.  
Two kids lay on a mess of broken glass just inside his back door. A rock beside them told him how they’d broken in. Rain was coming through the smashed pane, and blood trailed over the inside knob where cut hands had unlocked it. There was a lot of blood on the floor—too much for cut hands alone.  
The older girl was still draped over the smaller kid, but when no shots came she peeked her head upwards and looked at him through a curtain of soaking red hair. She winced at the sight of his scars, but her gaze quickly flitted back down to his hand. She was shivering violently, her shoulders bare under a thin cotton dress that was plastered to her with rainwater. The lace trim was torn, and little eyelets showed glimpses of pale flesh underneath. Her muddy sneakers were leaving marks against his wall.  
“P-please,” she said, her voice high and tight with fear, “please d-don’t shoot.”  
“What—?” Sandor followed her frightened gaze to the gun in his hand.  
“Christ, girl, I’m not gonna shoot you—who the bloody fuck are you?”  
“I’m—“  
The sound of a hound baying nearby cut through the wind. The girl gasped.  
“Please! Please turn it off! They’ll f-find us!”  
“Who—?”  
“Please!”  
Fear made her brave, and she lunged toward Sandor, who gripped his gun more tightly. But the girl just slapped the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.  
“What the fuck do you think you’re—“  
“Please!” She knelt down and tore off part of the bottom of her dress, scrubbing the fabric on the rain-soaked tiles to remove the blood from the linoleum.  
_I’m dreaming_ , Sandor thought. _I’m having a nightmare and psycho Cinderella has broken into my house._  
The sound of baying hounds grew closer, and the girl began to weep as she scrubbed.  
“What’s with the fucking dogs?” Sandor asked.  
“The hunt,” she managed between gasps.  
Sandor was now completely confused and thoroughly annoyed.  
“Who the fuck hunts deer in a thunderstorm?”  
The girl looked up at him, lightning briefly shining on her face. Without her hair in the way, he could see bruises around her bright blue eyes that made his stomach clench.  
“They’re not hunting deer,” she said softly.  
A sick feeling wormed its way into Sandor’s stomach. She couldn’t be saying what he thought she was saying. He’d seen pretty much every fucked up thing one person could do to another, but hunting a girl? And a kid, to boot? People just didn't do things like that.  
A loud knock sounded at the front door, and the girl collapsed back over her friend. Sandor still hadn’t managed to get a look at that one. He didn't even know if it was a girl or a boy. It was being awfully still, though.  
“Please don’t answer it,” the girl squeaked. “Please.”  
“Why? Who are they?”  
She shook her head, and Sandor lost his patience.  
“Fine, I’ll find out myself.”  
“No!” The shrill whisper lingered in his ears as Sandor crossed the small cabin, gun firmly in hand. He held it next to him as he regarded the knocker through the front door.  
The first guy was youngish, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with blond hair and an expression like he’d stepped in dog shit. The second guy was older, early twenties, with black hair, blue eyes and a shit-eating grin. The leashes of several nasty-looking dogs were wound around his fist, and the dogs were rearing on their hind legs to gnash their teeth at the Hound on the other side of the glass pane in the front door. Both of the men were holding bows and carrying quivers of arrows across their shoulders.  
“Good evening!” the smug older bastard yelled through the glass, grinning like he’d just run into an old friend at a picnic, “I was wondering if you might let us in?”  
“Piss off!” Sandor yelled back, but the kid’s grin never faltered.  
“We’re looking for our sisters. They ran away and our parents are terribly worried.”  
“Not here. Now piss off!”  
“Are you sure? We could reward you quite handsomely.”  
Now Sandor was pissed. No, he was pissed squared. He held up his gun and tapped the muzzle on the glass. Both boys’ eyes widened, and the younger one looked like he’d wet himself.  
“If you both don’t fuck off outta here I will stick this in you sideways. Now get!”  
The grin finally slid off the shit eater’s face.  
“All right then.”  
The guy reached behind his back and Sandor barely had time to duck before bullets were crashing through the glass and embedding themselves in the wall over his head. His service training took over and he hit the ground, getting a shirt full of broken glass for his trouble, and fired through the door.  
The yelping of dogs came through loud and clear, but he kept firing until he heard a human voice swear.  
One of the boys yelled something to the other that was drowned out by a clap of thunder. In the corresponding lightning burst, Sandor could see the boys limping away, dragging their two remaining hounds with them. The other dogs lay dead outside his door.  
Carefully, Sandor pushed himself to his feet, showering bits of broken glass from his front like candy from a piñata. Nothing hurt too badly, and there was no telltale burning of a gunshot wound.  
His house wasn’t so lucky. Sandor flipped the light switch and surveyed the damage. Thousands of dollars, at least. Suddenly, he felt rage building inside him.  
How dare anyone come to his home, fire on him in his house…  
Turning on light switches as he went, Sandor made his way back through the house to the back door.  
“Alright girl, you are going to give me some fucking answers or I swear to God—“  
He flipped on the last light switch and froze.

In the dark, with the girl crouched down, he’d not gotten a good look at her. Now, as she stood, with her pale skin lit up under the glow of the lamps, the sight was worse than he could have imagined. The girl was tall, but her face and body were impossibly young. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen. She would have been incredibly pretty with her red hair and blue eyes, if not for the bruises that marred her face and continued down her body, ringing her neck, covering her arms. And on her legs—oh god, her legs—  
Partially dried blood caked the inside of her thighs, disappearing beneath the torn hem of her dress. Little rivulets of red ran down her wet legs into her socks.  
He refused to think about the cause of that blood. He thought his head might explode.  
Sandor stood there, staring, until a tiny moan woke him from his thoughts.  
“Arya!” The red-haired girl knelt by her friend, who stirred on the ground. She touched her friend gingerly, with gentle fingers that quickly turned red. The older girl turned to Sandor, flinching as she looked in his eyes.  
“Please, please help her!” The girl said. _So, it’s a “her”_ Sandor thought distantly. He knelt down, alarmed by the blood pooling underneath the younger girl.  
“What happened?” he asked gruffly.  
“They got her. I pulled it out,” the girl said, “but I think the tip broke off.”  
She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a piece of wood. Sandor took it and stared at what was unmistakably part of an arrow.  
_What the bloody fuck happened to these girls?_  
He gently rolled the younger girl fully onto her stomach, wincing as she moaned, and stared at the blood that had soaked through the makeshift bandage over her shoulder.  
“Please, help her. Please.”  
“I got it the first time you asked,” Sandor said gruffly. He didn’t have a fucking clue how to treat an arrow wound.  
Sandor stood and reached for the phone on his coffee table.  
“No!” The girl grabbed his arm.  
“What the fuck are you doing? You want me to help her or not?”  
“If you take her to the hospital they’ll call the police. He’ll find us.”  
“Who?”  
“Joffrey.”  
“What the fuck’s a Joffrey?”  
“Joffrey…Lannister.”  
Things finally snapped into place.  
“Are you telling me one of those kids is a Lannister?!”  
The girl shrank back from his anger, and he could tell his nostrils were flaring with rage. The girl’s glance darted from door to door, clearly wishing she could run. He immediately felt ashamed. He ran a hand over his face.  
“Okay. Look, under the sink in the kitchen is a big box. Bring it to me.”  
To the girl’s credit, she ran off at once to do as he asked.  
God this was bad. He was well and truly fucked now. The Lannisters had more money and more power than anyone in the Northeast. Maybe anyone in the country. Their enemies conveniently vanished. And he might have shot the little prick. He was a dead man walking.  
Sandor rolled the little girl — Arya, she had called her— onto her back and examined the front of her shoulder for blood. There was nothing. The arrow hadn’t gone through.  
For a moment, Sandor’s hands froze as he looked at the little girl. She was tiny, with dark hair and a face creased in pain, even unconscious. She couldn’t have been more than ten. Who the fuck shot a ten year old girl with an arrow?  
With careful fingers, he rolled her back over and untied the blood-soaked bandage. Then he began easing her good arm out of the hoodie she was wearing. He didn’t dare move her other arm, so he just flung the hoodie off to that side as he began ripping open the back seam on her shirt.  
“No!” A wild cry tore through the house, and a hundred pounds of teenage girl slammed into him from the side.  
“What the—get off me!”  
But the girl was hitting him wildly, scratching at his face.  
“Don’t touch her—you can’t have her, you can’t!”  
With a roar, Sandor grabbed the girl’s wrists and held them still, pulling her to the ground so she was kneeling in front of him. Her eyes sought his, wide with fear.  
“Okay,” the girl said, her voice a dry rasp. “Okay, I’ll do it.”  
Unable to process the change in her demeanor, Sandor released her wrists. The girl reached out a trembling hand and hooked her fingers under the waistband of his boxers.  
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Sandor stood up so suddenly he hit his head on a sconce. The girl pushed herself back and curled up into a ball.  
“I wasn’t going to rape her,” Sandor bellowed. “I was trying to look at her wound! How else am I supposed to get her bloody shirt off?”  
The girl looked up at him, fresh tears streaking through the blood and dirt on her face.  
“I’m sorry…”  
Sandor sighed. He reached over and grabbed a throw from the arm of a chair, and tossed it to the shivering girl, who wrapped herself in it gratefully. He was bellowing like a drill sergeant at a traumatized teenager.  
“Did you bring the box from the kitchen?”  
The girl nodded.  
“Good. Now, _you_ get her shirt off and I’ll sort the supplies.”  
He turned his back on the girls, praying he wasn’t about to get hit from behind by a kamikaze redhead.  
His first aid kit was impressive—it had to be, this far from any medical care—but it was nothing surgical. He settled on some antiseptic, gauze, and tweezers. It didn’t escape him that he’d use the same supplies on a bad splinter, never mind an arrowhead.  
“Can I turn around?” He asked drily.  
“Yes.”  
The little girl was on her stomach, her back exposed. The wound wasn’t large, but it looked huge against her tiny shoulder blade.  
“I’m not a bloody surgeon you know.”  
“Please. She’s my sister. I can’t lose her.”  
Sandor nodded, barely registering his surprise at their relationship. He’d never seen two girls who looked less like sisters.  
Finding the tip of the arrow was easier than he thought. It was lodged by the bone, not far under the surface. Getting it out, however, was a son of a bitch.  
“Damn it all to motherfucking cuntville of a hell!” He punched his thigh, exasperated, as the blood-slick metal slipped out of the tweezers again and back beneath Arya’s skin.  
“Can I try?” The girl asked, reaching out a timid hand for the tweezers.  
“You some Doogie Howser know it all? Go to Medical School when you were in diapers?”  
The girl flushed bright red.  
“I’m a good sewer,” she said, and left it at that.  
Sandor hadn’t the faintest idea what that had to do with anything, but he handed over the tweezers anyway. She got it on her second try, easing the jagged metal out of her skin and setting it carefully aside.  
“Show off,” Sandor grumbled, and the girl’s blue eyes flew up to meet his, surprised.  
“There’s a needle and thread in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom to the right,” he said. “I’ll put some antiseptic on her.”  
The girl stood up but hesitated, clearly unsure if she should leave her little sister alone with him.  
“If I was going to hurt you two, I’d have done it by now,” he said gruffly, trying to speak as gently as possible.  
She thought it over for a moment before turning and heading to the bathroom. Sandor splashed a good amount of the cleaning stuff on the wound, including inside it, but was careful to save some for the myriad of cuts he saw on the older sister. He used the antiseptic to sterilize the needle and thread that she handed him too.  
“You want to do it?” He asked the girl, dangling the needle before her. She nodded and set her jaw, determined.  
_I’ll be damned_ , he thought, _she looks like she’d break if you blew on her_. He’d known guys in the army who’d puked when they were sewing up each other’s wounds, and plenty who’d passed out sewing their own.  
The image of this red-headed waif outperforming his comrades in basic training brought a grin to his face.  
“Done,” the girl said, tying off a knot. “Do you have scissors?”  
“Sure.” He grabbed the thread and broke it in his grasp.  
“Oh. That…works.”  
“You _are_ a good sewer.” The line of stitches was as neat and pretty as if a machine had done it.  
“Thanks.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her bloody hand.  
“What’s your name?”  
She turned those big eyes on him, and he felt like he was drowning in blue. Those eyes were really fucking unsettling.  
“Mmmmmmmnnnngh.” A strange moan brought their attention down to the girl at their feet, who was wriggling feebly on the ground. “Sansa?”  
“I’m here!” she said, kneeling on the blood-slicked floor and grabbing Arya’s hand.  
“Oh Arya,” tears were streaming down Sansa’s face, sending a spasm of horror through Sandor. He would have pulled sixteen arrowheads out of his own shoulder if it meant he didn’t have to deal with crying girls.  
“It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe now,” Sansa crooned. “Do you think you can sit up?”  
Arya nodded and Sansa helped pull her up. Sandor felt awkward and useless, unsure how to help.  
Suddenly the little girl stiffened. Her gaze trailed from Sandor’s bare feet, up his calves, up to his face—  
And suddenly the little girl hopped to her feet as though she was auditioning for the role of Karate Kid. She stood between Sandor and her older sister, pausing only to grab the tweezers that lay discarded near her feet.  
Sandor raised an eyebrow. If Sansa would survive basic training, then this kid could run basic training.  
“You planning to kill me with tweezers?” He asked, trying not to let his amusement show.  
“Maybe.” The little girl swayed where she stood, much of her blood supply literally pooled at her feet.  
“Sit down before you fall down,” Sandor said, not unkindly. The girl bristled.  
“It’s okay, Arya. He helped us.”  
The little girl looked around as though realizing for the first time that they weren’t in the rain anymore.  
“Who are you?” she asked.  
“Sandor Clegane. Most people call me the Hound.”  
“Why the Hound?”  
“Army nickname. I can smell danger.”  
Arya snorted. “Then how come your face looks like that?”  
“Arya!” Sansa looked appalled. The Hound felt his jaw tighten.  
“That’s how I learned to smell danger.”  
Arya didn’t say anything to that, but her hand relaxed around the tweezers. Both girls stared at his scars, and for the first time in years he had the childish wish to cover them with something.  
“We have to leave,” Sansa said suddenly. “They’ll be back for us here.”  
Arya stiffened. The change in both girls was surreal—they went from little kids to war-weary fighters in the space of a moment.  
“When’s the last time you girls ate?” Sandor asked. He couldn’t send them back into the rain, starving and bleeding. They were barely alive as it was.  
Arya and Sansa exchanged looks.  
“I think it was…two days ago?” Sansa guessed.  
“Three,” Arya said. “We went camping on Monday.”  
Sandor raised an eyebrow.  
“Come on then. You won’t get far on an empty stomach. Besides, I wounded at least one of those little shits. It’ll take him a while to get help.”  
The girls exchanged looks again, then trailed after him like puppies into the kitchen and took a seat on the mismatched chairs around the small table.  
Sandor opened the refrigerator. There was enough liquor to make a moonshiner happy, but not as much food as he could wish. He’d been planning to do a supply run in a few days.  
“I can give you leftover chicken. Might have some bread.”  
“That would be wonderful. Thank you, sir.”  
He almost closed the refrigerator door on his hand.  
“I’m not a sir!”  
“Mr. Clegane?”  
“No. Hound.”  
“Please…” her voice trailed off, and her blue eyes were frightened again. “Not Hound. Ramsay has hounds.” Sandor remembered the snarling, teeth-gnashing mutts he’d killed.  
“Oh bugger it all—Sandor then. Any objections to Sandor?” She shook her head.  
“Good.” He tossed the dish of leftover chicken onto the table and opened a cabinet to get some plates. When he turned back around, the girls were wolfing down chicken so fast he was afraid they’d choke on a wishbone. Even the polite one was covered in chicken grease.  
“Woah. Slow down, it’s not gonna fly off.” Sansa smiled but Arya kept wolfing her food. He could see the little girl wincing, but she’d been clever enough to zip up her hoodie with her bad arm inside, so it acted like a sling. Underneath, though, he knew her shirt was in shreds. They both needed new clothes. Oh well. Not his problem.  
When they’d polished off the entire chicken dish and half a loaf of bread, Sandor finally sat down at the table. Neither girl stopped eating, but they both slowed down and sat up straighter as though they knew what was coming.  
“Alright. How old are you?”  
“Eighteen,” Sansa held herself up straight, trying to look older than she was.  
“Try again.”  
She deflated a bit. “I’ll be fifteen soon.”  
Arya snorted into her mug. “She’ll be fifteen in six months.”  
“So, you’re fourteen? Why didn’t you just say that?”  
Sansa looked at her lap.  
“And you?”  
“Twenty-five.”  
“Arya!”  
“Just kidding. I’m eleven and a half.”  
Sandor looked at Sansa for confirmation. Sansa nodded.  
“You look younger.”  
Arya’s eyes flashed. “Well, I’m not.”  
“Cool your jets. I’m not insulting you. Where is your family?”  
To his horror, both girls’ eyes misted over.  
“They’re dead.” Arya said flatly. Sansa put a hand over her mouth to stifle her crying. “Ramsay and Joffrey found our campsite. They killed our Dad first. Then Mom, then Robb. Bran and Rickon were last.”  
“He was only six,” Sansa said, her eyes full of grief.  
“They took us with them. Said they wanted some fun.” Arya’s voice grew cold as steel. “They—“ she looked over at her sister, who shivered in her torn dress.  
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sansa whispered, and Arya grabbed her hand, looking as angry as Sandor was feeling.  
“They kept us two days. When they were done, they told us to run. Said they wanted a proper hunt. They got me in the shoulder. I don’t remember anything after that.”  
“I knew I couldn’t carry Arya for long, so I dragged her into the stream with me and pulled her downriver until the lightning started,” Sansa said quietly. “That’s how we lost the dogs. Then I took her on my back and got her through some woods until I saw your house. I knocked but no one answered, so I thought no one was home. I broke in.”  
Sandor was floored.  
“You said it was Joffrey Lannister who did this?”  
Sansa nodded. “And Ramsay Bolton, his best friend.”  
“How do you know them?”  
“We all went to the same school. I just started this year. Joffrey is a senior. Ramsay graduated a few years ago. Joffrey wanted to date me, but my father said I was too young to go out with seniors. Joffrey was furious.”  
“We have to call the police.”  
Both chairs scraped back simultaneously, and the girls sprang to their feet.  
“No!”  
“There are murdering psychopaths after you, and probably after me now. I shot one of them. I have to give a statement.”  
“No, please, you don’t understand!”  
“Joffrey has the police in his pocket. He has everyone in his pocket. They’ll kill us before we even get to the station.” Arya’s eyes flashed, and her voice dropped an octave. “They’ll kill you too, now.”  
Sandor pounded a fist on the table and stood up, making both girls back away in fright.  
“So what the fuck am I supposed to do?”  
“Disappear,” Arya said. “That’s what we’re going to do.”  
“And how the fuck are you gonna do that?”  
The girls looked at each other.  
“Could you—could you give us a ride out of town?” The redhead asked hesitantly.  
Sandor sat down heavily in his chair and a slow rumble of laughter built up from the pit of his stomach. Three hours ago he’d been asleep in his bed, already as “disappeared” from the world as it was possible to be. That’s why he lived in these godforsaken woods. Now he was on the run again, and he had miniature hitchhikers along for the ride.  
He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and noticed that the girls had backed away from him. Sansa’s arm was encircled protectively around Arya. He took a deep breath to collect himself.  
They might be ankle-biters, but they’d been through almost as much hell as he had. And that was saying something. The young one was smart, and could obviously handle herself. The older one was more sensitive. Still, she’d sewn her sister’s flesh like it was cotton. And she’d tried to beat him up when she thought he was going to hurt the little one. There was steel behind her eyes, just as much as Arya’s.  
“You want to disappear?” He asked the girls finally. They nodded solemnly.  
“Then you broke into the right house. Grab any food that will keep, and if you don’t want me in a mood make sure you bring some liquor from the fridge. Don’t drink it or I’ll leave your asses here. Then pack up the first aid kit. I’ll grab the rest.”  
The girls scattered to do what he’d asked. Sandor climbed the stairs two at a time to the single bedroom on the second floor. He grabbed his emergency bag from under the bed and looked through it. Money, clothes, passport. A bottle of Jack. He needed more than that now. He’d never anticipated having people with him.  
He grabbed a duffel from his closet and rummaged through his dresser. All of the clothes would be laughably big on the youngsters, but he shoved in a few T-shirts anyway. Socks too. Blankets. His hunting knife. Ammo for his gun.  
He zipped up the bag and grabbed the one on his bed. As an afterthought, he took his toolbox too. He grabbed all the loose change and scattered bills out of his nightstand.  
He stopped at the head of the stairs and took a deep breath. Was this really what he was about to do? For all he knew, he was kidnapping these kids. They might have other family around. And they were injured, bleeding. They needed a hospital. This was madness.  
He made his way down the stairs and found the girls ready to go with a pile of food and supplies at their feet. He shoved it all in the half-empty duffel bag.  
He was about to ask them again whether they were sure, but he found he didn’t need to. The determination in both girls’ eyes answered the question more clearly than words could have done.  
“Fuck it all,” he mumbled. “Alright. Let’s go. And make sure you piss before we leave, because we’re not stopping.”


	2. Drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading and leaving comments. I love hearing your thoughts!

The wind whipped at Sansa’s dress and hair as she made her way to the car, her arms struggling to lift a heavy duffel bag while Arya toted the first aid kit with her good hand. They followed Sandor into a small garage, where a rusty two-door truck sat in the single parking space. 

“You’ll have to put the stuff by your feet. No time to tie it down.”

Sansa nodded. She helped Arya into the truck, where she was sandwiched between Sansa and Sandor on the long bench seat. Sansa fastened the seat belt around Arya’s hips so she wouldn’t have to use her right arm. 

“Okay?” Sandor asked gruffly, not really looking at them. 

“Yes,” Sansa said quietly. 

“Let’s get out of here before we die,” Arya said. 

To Sansa’s surprise, Sandor let out a low, rumbling chuckle as he pulled out of the garage. The road was little more than a muddy track, and the truck bounced and lurched underneath them. They drove for ages through the dark woods, rain pouring onto the windshield like some never-ending cosmic waterfall. 

Sansa wrapped her arms tightly around herself. _The trees looked as sinister from the truck as they had while she was running, slipping and sliding on the wet grass, her sister’s arms draped loosely around her neck…_

Sansa shuddered, and Arya looked up at her. 

“You cold?” 

“A little.” 

Arya reached over to turn on the heat, but Sandor slapped at her hand. 

“Hey! What was that for?” 

“Heat means gas. Does it look like we’ve got gas to waste?” 

For the first time Sansa noticed the dashboard, where a red arrow was approaching a large “E.” 

“Is there a gas station near here?” 

“Few miles.” 

“Still didn’t have to _hit_ me,” Arya grumbled. 

“Trust me girl, if I’d hit you, you’d have known it.” 

Arya opened her mouth to argue, but Sansa saw the telltale flash of headlights in the distance.

“Someone’s coming!” 

Sandor immediately tapped something on the dashboard, and the truck’s headlights went dark. With a hard jerk of the wheel he pulled off the path and drove several yards into the trees. 

He pulled his gun from the waistband of his pants. Arya’s eyes widened. 

“You have a _gun_?” 

“No, I usually defend myself with a stern-talking to,” he growled, checking the chamber for bullets. 

“Cool,” she breathed, holding out her hand. “Can I hold it?” 

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Sandor snapped, and Arya scowled. 

“He knows how to shoot,” Sansa told her. “It’s better if he has it.” 

“Whatever.” Arya sat back against her seat. “It might be someone else. It might not even be them.” 

“I’ve already had more visitors tonight than I get in a year,” Sandor said. “I’m not taking any chances.” 

He turned the car off and they waited. Sansa’s breaths were coming in quick little bursts laced with fear, and not even her embarrassment over her weakness could make them stop. 

“I won’t let them hurt you again,” Arya whispered, taking Sansa’s hand in her good one. Sansa tried to smile, but she felt tears in her eyes. 

“Down. Now!” Sandor rasped, his voice harsh as he slid down in his seat. Arya did the same, whimpering at the friction against her bad shoulder. Sansa’s dress caught around her thighs but she kept sliding until she was curled around the duffle bag on the floor mat, shaking like a leaf. 

She heard the sharp intake of breath beside her and the crunch and squeal of tires on the road. The sounds didn’t stop; they went on and on for ages. Sansa wondered if the car had gotten stuck, but eventually the sounds moved on. Joffrey and Ramsay had passed them by. 

“In your seatbelts. Now.” Sansa used her elbows to push herself back into her seat. Again she helped Arya with her seatbelt. 

“Six fucking cars,” Sandor muttered, turning the key in the ignition so that their car flared to life. “They sent six fucking carfuls of Lannisters after some little fucking kids.” 

The noises finally made sense to Sansa. It hadn’t been one stuck car she’d heard. It had been a whole motorcade. 

“Do you think there are more?” She asked. 

“I’m sure as shit not waiting to find out,” he said, and with a lurch and a judder they were headed back to the path and down the hill. Arya turned in her seat to watch out the back, but no headlights came for them. 

They all breathed a sigh of relief when they hit the main road. Sansa pointed to a gas station in the distance. 

“Look!”

“I’m not stopping there,” Sandor shook his head. His scars gleamed in the light from the infrequent street lamps. 

“But we’re almost out of gas,” Sansa pleaded, gesturing to the dashboard. 

“And if these Lannister cunts are smart, they’ll have someone waiting for us at every gas station, police station, and hospital within ten miles.” 

Arya looked positively delighted by his language, but Sansa winced. Still, she kept her thoughts to herself. But when Sandor drove past the entrance to a freeway, she couldn’t help herself. 

“Why—?” 

“Look, girl, are you going to question everything I do? Cause if you are, you’ll be riding in the truck bed.”

Sansa shut her mouth with a snap. 

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Arya bristled, “Or you’ll be peeing out of your bum hole.” 

“Arya!” Sansa was shocked, but Sandor roared with laughter. 

“Where did you learn that?” 

“Ygritte.” 

“What the fuck’s a Ygritte?” 

“Our brother Jon’s girlfriend,” Sansa explained. 

Sandor frowned. He ran through the list of names he remembered from their story—Robb, Bran, Rickon. He didn’t remember any Jon.

“Where is he?” Sandor asked. 

“College, up north. Blackcastle.”

“Do the Lannisters know he’s up there?” 

Sansa paled. So, to Sandor’s surprise, did Arya. 

“Sansa, you don’t think?—“ Arya’s voice trembled. 

“No. I’ve never mentioned Jon in front of Joffrey. And he’s registered under a different last name. Jon Snow.” 

Arya relaxed, but she still lifted a finger and began to chew on her nail. 

“We have to warn him,” Sansa said. She turned to Sandor. “Can we make a phone call?” 

Sandor’s fingers tensed around the steering wheel as he fought the urge to say no, they couldn’t make a fucking phone call. But the hopeful faces of the two girls was too much. What harm could it do? They’d be traced to the gas station eventually. And if the girls really had some family…

“A short one,” he said finally. “When we get to the gas station.” Even in his peripheral vision, he could see that Sansa’s smile was radiant.

A soft thump hit the side of his arm, and he looked down into Arya’s pale face. 

“Thanks,” she said. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said grimly. “For all I know, I’m about to get us all killed.” 

 

The dinging of the “empty” warning had been on for miles when the truck finally rolled into a gas station. It was a dinky building, backwoodsy and rustic looking, which was exactly what Sandor wanted. No cameras in a shithole like this. 

“Okay, ankle biter number one, take this and go pay for pump three,” Sandor said, handing Arya a wad of cash. “Get some water bottles too. The reusable ones, not that dumb shit in the fridge. Fill them up while you’re in there.”

Arya nodded and disappeared inside. Sansa started to go after her, but Sandor grabbed her arm. 

“What do you think you’re doing? I sent the little girl in because nobody will remember her. You walk in there with red hair and dried blood from head to toe, and we’re more fucked than a whore on free whore day.” 

Sansa blushed bright red. _Why does he have to say things like that_? 

“Besides. We have a call to make.” 

Sansa’s heart lifted for the first time in three days. _Jon._ Her chest ached at the thought of hearing his voice. 

Sandor shoved a couple of quarters into the pay phone and dialed the numbers that Sansa recited. The phone rang half a dozen times until Sandor cursed under his breath. Finally a groggy voice answered. 

“Hello?” 

“Jon?” Sansa asked, her voice quivering in relief, “is that you?” 

“Sansa?” Sansa heard rustling in the background and the click of a lamp. “Where are you? What happened?” 

“Joffrey and R-Ramsay. They killed them all. Everyone but me and Arya.” 

“What do you mean—“ 

Sandor grabbed the phone. 

“Look, Sansa’s brother, your sisters are in a shit ton of trouble so I suggest you shut up and listen while I talk. Your sisters came busting through my front door, covered in blood and shot to shit, and now their sadistic high school buddies are out to kill them and apparently anybody else named Stark. So I suggest you get your ass out of bed and plan to meet us in two days at the God’s Eye. You know where that is?” He listened for a moment. 

“Right. At noon. North Entrance. Don’t take your car, don’t use a credit card, don’t tell anyone where you’re going, and don’t bring your cell phone. Got that? Now get out of your dorm before some cunt comes to hunt you down like an animal.” 

He thrust the phone back at Sansa, who barely caught it. 

“Jon?”

“Sansa who _was_ that?” 

“Sandor. He saved us. He took us in.” 

“Did he hurt you? Are you hurt?” 

“Um…Sansa looked down at herself, and she could tell that Sandor was following her gaze. The bruises on her arms and legs glowed more deeply purple in the yellow light from the gas station, and the blood on her thighs drew her attention sharply back to the throbbing between her legs. For a moment she wanted to break down and tell Jon everything, to cry and have it be his voice, that wonderfully familiar voice, comforting her. But the thought of saying it aloud—she just couldn’t. 

“I’m…I’m okay,” she said quietly, trying to ignore Sandor’s snort in the background. “Arya was hurt, but she’s doing fine.” 

“Can you trust this guy?” 

Sansa looked over at Sandor, wondering how much of this he was hearing. 

“I think so,” she said finally, and was shocked to see a little bit of hurt on Sandor’s face. It was so fleeting that she thought she’d imagined it. 

“I’m coming to get you, okay? I promise. Is Arya there? Is she okay?” 

“She’s inside. She’s fine, I swear. Just please get out of there Jon. Don’t trust anyone, not even the police. I can’t lose you too.” A tear traced down Sansa’s cheek, and Sandor looked away uncomfortably. 

“You won’t. I’ll see you soon.” Jon’s voice was cut off by an automated request for more quarters. Sandor took the phone and slammed it back on its cradle.

“I said a _short_ phone call,” he grumbled. He made it back to the car just as Arya came out, her arms full of water bottles that said “Riverlands National Park!” 

“Change?” He said, holding out his hand. 

“Nuh-uh,” Arya said, dumping the water bottles into his arms instead. “Gas prices suck.” 

Sandor rolled his eyes. 

“Get in the car you little thief.” 

“I have to pee.” 

“Fine. Both of you, go and then meet me back here. Stay together!” 

They nodded and rushed off. He didn’t really have to even say it, Sansa thought. She wouldn’t let Arya out of her sight ever again if she could help it. She didn’t even like having her in the gas station by herself. 

Arya went quickly and washed her hands while Sansa took her turn in a nest of toilet paper. It burned when she peed, and sShe couldn’t help the small cry that escaped from her lips when she wiped. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sansa’s head snapped up, but Arya was still facing away from her.

“No. Please. Not yet.” 

“Okay.” 

Sansa finished up and washed her hands, turning the faucet off with a paper towel. 

“I’m going to kill them, you know.” Arya said, her voice low and serious. “For what they did to you. For what they did to all of us.” 

Sansa stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t say that. Don’t be like them. Mom and Dad wouldn’t want that.” 

“Well they’re not here.” Arya yanked open the bathroom door and Sansa followed her outside, trying to push the thoughts of her family from her mind. They were dead, their bodies lying sprawled around the remains of a campfire that had been washed away by the rain. But Arya was alive. She was alive and her little gait bobbing in front of Sansa as she walked was all the reason Sansa needed to stay alive too. 

“Why do girls take so goddamn long to piss?” Sandor asked when they made it back to the truck.

“Because we don’t have penises,” Arya said, wincing as she buckled herself in. 

“I need to make a stop,” Sansa mumbled, yanking the door shut behind her. 

“We just stopped! You can piss in a water bottle if your bladder’s that goddamn small.”

“No. I need—I need a pharmacy.” She looked down at her feet and traced the rubber floor mat with her toe. She could feel Sandor’s and Arya’s eyes on her. 

“What for? If this is for some make up shit—“ 

“I need that thing girls take. After—to avoid pregnancy.” 

She might as well have dropped an actual bomb, things went so deathly still. Then Sandor started the truck. 

“We’ll stop on the way.” 

 


	3. Plan B

 

They didn’t stop in that town, or the next. Sansa could feel her anxiety rising as she tried to count back the hours. Two and a half days since she’d first been…well, she didn’t think the pill worked much longer than that. If they didn’t stop soon, it would be too late. 

She sniffed, trying hard to blink back tears of fear as she watched the dark streets flash past her window. The houses looked like crouching monsters in the dark. She wondered what was happening at their house right now. Were Lannister men tearing it apart, looking for clues as to where they’d gone? Were Ramsay and Joffrey rummaging through her drawers, laughing at her stuffed animals and pocketing her underwear? 

“Alright, there’s a pharmacy in a mile or so,” Sandor said. Sansa turned to look at him. He still wasn’t meeting her eyes. “Give me a list. Don’t forget anything. We’re only doing this once.” 

“The pill. And pads. Um, underwear, if they have it. And some Tylenol?” 

He looked over at that, his eyes scanning Sansa again. Then he nodded. 

“Toothbrushes and toothpaste too,” Arya said, and Sansa could have hugged her. “And food. I’m starving.” 

Sandor pulled the car into the parking lot of a pharmacy. He turned off the ignition and looked hard at the girls. 

“Stay here. Stay down. If anyone comes for you, honk the horn and I’ll come out and deal with them.” 

Sansa and Arya both nodded. Sandor slammed the door and locked the truck behind him, then disappeared into the pharmacy. 

“Do you think he’ll get caught?” Sansa asked quietly. 

“For what? He’s not stupid enough to steal when we’re trying to disappear.” 

It was true, and Sansa relaxed. Still, her eyes roamed the parking lot, and she could see Arya watching the rearview mirror. Nothing around them moved. Time stretched until both girls were shifting in their seats. 

“Come on already,” Arya muttered. 

Sansa opened her mouth, but was interrupted by a flash of blue and red light as it swept over their car. She yanked Arya down in her seat, shaking like a leaf. The police car pulled into a spot near the front door of the pharmacy and a cop got out. He disappeared through the automatic doors. 

Sansa’s heart was beating so hard she felt certain Arya could feel it, just as she could feel Arya silently panicking next to her. 

“Be ready to run,” Sansa whispered. “If they come over here.” 

Arya nodded. “I really thought he was too smart to steal,” she whispered. “Do you think I was wrong?” 

Sansa shook her head. “Maybe they’re just stopping.”

Time passed, each second stretching to a minute, an hour, an eternity. 

The automatic doors opened again, and Sandor appeared, his arms filled with two large paper bags. He hid his face behind them as he passed the police car.

Sansa didn’t breathe again until he opened the door of the truck and pulled himself inside. 

“Hold these and stay down,” he said, shoving the bags at the girls. Something hard thunked into Sansa’s bruised knee, but she did as he asked. 

Cursing under his breath, Sandor pulled slowly out of the parking lot and made a prim three-point turn onto the road. 

“Fuck!” He said finally, hitting the steering wheel when they were a few blocks away. Sansa shrank back in her seat. 

“Why were the cops there?” Arya asked. 

“Doesn’t fucking matter. They weren’t there for us.” He ran a hand over his face. “I got you what you wanted. Fucking pharmacist _winked_ at me when I asked for it.” 

Sansa rummaged through the bags she was holding. In addition to the pads, she found brown hair dye, toothpaste, and a case of red bull. 

“Arya, I think it’s in your bag,” she said. Arya frowned and rummaged through her stuff, finally pulling out a small purple box and a couple of candy bars. She handed the box to Sansa and ripped into one of the bars. 

“Sure, help yourself,” Sandor growled. He picked up one of the Riverlands water bottles and tossed it to Sansa. 

“Thanks.” Sansa took the pill without looking too closely at it. _Please work_ , she prayed quietly, looking up at the sliver of moon that had lit her path in the woods. _Please_. 

They continued driving down back streets, occasionally hitting dead ends without benefit of a map or GPS.

“Where are we going?” Sansa finally asked. 

“West,” Sandor said. “For now.” 

“You know there are highways that go West,” Arya murmured. She was nodding off against the seat. 

Sandor glared at her. “There’s a lot of shit on highways. Police. Cameras.” 

Arya didn’t answer. Her little head had slid down to rest on Sansa’s shoulder. The earthy smell of the woods still clung to her, tinged with the metallic scent of the blood that soaked her hoodie. Sansa pressed her lips to Arya’s forehead, silently thanking any gods that might be listening that Arya was still here. She couldn’t survive this alone. 

Sandor was flashing sidelong looks at her, but Sansa was too tired to wonder what he was thinking. She leaned her head on Arya’s, and let the hum of the engine lull her to sleep. 

 

Arya dreamed of the woods. Sansa’s ankle was still tied to the metal stake in the ground, and she was lying unmoving in the dirt. 

“We’re going to have some fun with you,” Ramsay said, his blue eyes sparkling as he used his knife to cut through the ties binding Arya to the tree. 

Arya spat at him, hitting him square on the cheek. Ramsay smiled without bothering to wipe it off. 

“You’re a little animal, aren’t you?” He asked. 

“We should try her out,” Joffrey leered at Arya. “I bet she’s a hellcat.” 

“We will,” Ramsay said, cleaning a fingernail with his knife. “But I like to play with my food before I eat it. Bring Sansa.” 

Joffrey used a knife to cut Sansa’s ties, then pushed her over to Ramsay. She landed on her knees, her face white and blank. The emptiness in her eyes frightened Arya more than Ramsay or Joffrey. 

“Do you like games, little girl?” Ramsay asked Arya as he finished cutting her loose. 

Arya tilted her chin upwards and remained silent. 

“Well, we’re going to play one.” He picked up his bow from the ground and placed an arrow in it. Arya’s blood ran cold, and she shivered harder than ever in the night air. 

“Go on. Run,” Ramsay said. Joffrey laughed. He pulled a dazed Sansa up by the elbow. 

“We gave you an order, princess,” Joffrey sneered. “Run. Run or die like your family.” 

Arya grabbed Sansa’s arm and made her look her in the eye. 

“Stay with me,” she begged. Sansa focused on Arya’s face and slowly nodded. 

“I won’t tell you again. I think ten minutes’ head start is fair. After all, I do have my hounds.” 

Arya tugged Sansa’s arm and they broke into a run, Sansa crying out in pain as her legs stretched. Their breath came heavy and fast as they lurched over the broken ground, dodging between the trees that came out of the darkness to meet them. Gnarled roots caught their sneakers, tripping Sansa, and Arya helped her to her feet. 

“Water. To throw off the dogs,” Sansa gasped. Arya turned right, making her way down the gently sloping ground where a distant stream glistened in the moonlight. 

A hound’s howl cut through the air, and Sansa whimpered as they pushed themselves even harder. An arrow flew into a tree over Arya’s head, and she shrieked in spite of herself. The baying grew louder, and Arya could hear the nock and zing of another arrow’s release—

“No!” Arya sat up with a yell, straining against the restraints binding her. 

“Jesus fucking Christ do you WANT me to crash the car?!” a voice shouted as the truck swerved and then sharply corrected. Arya blinked, looking around as a soft hand touched hers. Sansa was looking down at her, hurt and exhausted but _alive_. 

“It’s okay,” she said. “you’re alright.” 

To her shame Arya felt tears in her eyes. She rubbed at them, trying to pretend that she was just waking up. She could sense Sandor looking over at her. 

“What?” She snapped at him. 

“Never seen you cry before.” 

“I’m not crying!” 

“After what those little fuckers did? I sure as shit would be.” 

Arya’s scowl faded. 

“I want them dead.” She expected a lecture, but none came. 

“Me too,” Sansa whispered.

“But you said—“

“I said I don’t want you to be the one to kill them.” 

Sandor snorted. “I’d like to see her try.” 

“You have a better idea?” Arya asked hotly. 

“You bet your tiny ass I do.” 

“What is it?” Sansa asked, a tiny bit of hope creeping into her voice. 

“Let me worry about that. And pass me a Red Bull. We’ll be there in a few hours.” 

“Where?” both girls chorused.

“A friend.” 

“Who?” Sansa demanded. Sandor rolled his eyes. 

“When did I become a damn kindergarten teacher? Mind your fucking business and pass me a red bull.” Sansa did as he asked and Sandor chugged it down and crushed the can in his hand. 

“Go back to sleep,” he said. “Give me some peace from all your damn questions.”

Arya stuck her tongue out at him but settled her head back on Sansa’s shoulder. Sansa ran her fingers through Arya’s hair, glossing over the tangled parts. The gesture was soothing, and Arya felt some of the tension leak out of her muscles. The pain in her throbbing shoulder eased a little as she relaxed. 

“Will you sing?” Arya asked quietly, half-embarrassed to be asking for something so childish. But she couldn’t help thinking of her mother, of the songs and hymns she’d sing when Arya was little and feverish. 

As though she’d read her mind, Sansa began to sing her mother’s favorite hymn. She sang it quietly, and the notes carried in the stillness. 

“Gentle mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war we pray…” 

Arya’s eyes fluttered and closed as Sansa’s gentle lilt swept her away, to a place that was safe, and warm, and home. 

 

Four hours and two more red bulls later, Sandor pulled his truck over on a poorly-lit city block. He double checked the street signs, his face pulled into a scowl. If he had the wrong address, they were well and truly fucked. 

He peered through the windshield, squinting at the rows of buildings crowded together. Broken windows and boarded doors dotted the brick, and crumbling sidewalks were scattered with broken glass.

A yawn caught his attention, and he turned to see Sansa stretching and wincing as she sat up.

“Are we here?” She asked, blinking the sleep from her eyes. 

“Yeah. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He grabbed his emergency bag and put a hand on the door, but firm fingers grabbed his other wrist. 

“Don’t leave us,” Sansa begged, her eyes wide with panic. Sandor sighed.

“Use your brain, girl. Do you think I’d take you three states away just to leave you in the middle of nowhere?” 

Sansa hesitated, then shook her head. 

“Right. I need to make sure we’re in the right place. Stay in the car, lock the doors, and if anything goes wrong, you drive off.” 

“I don’t know how to drive,” Sansa said. 

“Long one is the gas, wide one is the break.” Sandor pulled his arm out of her grasp and closed the door quietly behind him. The faintest pink was touching the horizon, and somewhere he could hear the rumble of a garbage truck. Pretty soon this whole block would be alive with whatever the hell kind of people lived here, and they would be screwed. Even junkies would remember a scarred man with two bloody kids. 

He found a mailbox with a street number, and counted his way up from there. 349. 351. 353. 355. The house looked like all the others, except that the front door, though chipped and worn, was very much intact. Sandor pressed on the little white button beside it. There was movement up above him, and he looked up to see a small camera tilting towards his face. 

Relief washed through him. They were in the right place. 

The camera retracted and a distant buzz told him the door had been unlocked. Sandor turned back towards the truck and beckoned Sansa to him. She carefully woke Arya and the two slid out of the truck, grabbing what they could carry as Sandor held the door open to keep it from locking. He ushered the girls in before him, and motioned for them to stay put. Then he wedged the door and went back to the truck. As quickly as he could, he rifled through his toolbox and found the screwdriver. He unscrewed the license plates from the front and back of the car, and grabbed the water bottles and extra duffel bag the girls had left in the truck. He took the license plates with him as he slipped back into the building, just as a garbage truck rumbled past the house. 

“Fuck that was close,” he mumbled, wiping his sweating forehead with his hand. He looked down at the two scared faces beneath him. 

“Do you have your gun?” Arya whispered. Sandor almost smiled. 

“Aye, little wolf. I have my gun.” 

“Little wolf?” Arya whispered, looking confused. 

“You protect your own. Like a wolf cub.” 

“So does Sansa,” Arya pointed out. “Why don’t you call her little wolf?” 

Sandor thought back to Sansa’s song in the truck, her sweet voice nearly lulling him to sleep along with Arya. 

“Because she sings like a little bird. Now come. He’s waiting for us.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses as to who's inside? :)  
> Please leave any comments or suggestions--I love hearing from you!


	4. A Port In the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved hearing your theories...but I had a different idea. :)

Setting down one of the pharmacy bags, Sansa grabbed Arya’s hand. To his surprise, the little wolf didn’t protest. They followed Sandor as the hallway turned into a creaking staircase, leading down into a basement. Sansa’s hand was sweating. Sandor tried to keep his head from banging on the low ceiling. 

“Davos!” He called when they reached the bottom of the stairs. The basement was dark, with cement floors and walls. There was no obvious light switch. “Show yourself, you bearded bastard.” 

A bright light flicked on, making all three of them wince and cover their eyes as footsteps rounded the corner.

“Now is that any way to talk to a—“ 

Davos broke off, staring at the ragtag team before him. He eyed the bloody little girls and whistled slowly.

“What on God’s green earth have you done this time?” 

Sandor scowled. 

“These two were attacked. They need to disappear. You disappear stuff.” 

“I smuggle stuff,” Davos reminded him gently. “It’s not quite the same.” He approached Arya and knelt down in front of her. “Are you alright?”

Arya looked back and forth between Davos and Sandor. 

“Did you take them from their family?” Davos asked. 

“Ixnay on the family,” Sandor growled, glancing over at Sansa, whose eyes had begun to look distinctly pink again. 

“He didn’t take us. Joffrey and Ramsay killed our family. They tried to kill us. We ran until I was shot and then Sansa carried me to Sandor’s house,” Arya said matter-of-factly.

Davos raised an eyebrow at Sandor, who shrugged. 

“That’s the short version,” he said. 

“Where is it you want to go?” Davos asked. 

“Gods Eye first. Reunite them with their brother. Then out of the country. Somewhere the Lannisters can’t reach.” 

“Lannisters? What the bloody hell do the Lannisters have to do with anything?” 

“Joffrey Lannister is one of the boys who attacked them.His family is trying to clean up the mess.” 

Davos cursed and ran a hand over his graying beard. 

“You could have at least brought some wine, with tidings like these.” 

Sandor rolled his eyes and pulled the bottle of Jack out of his emergency duffle. “Knock yourself out.” 

Davos raised it in salute but set it down on a nearby desk. 

“First things first. Food, baths, sleep. Then we’ll begin.” He beckoned them down a hallway and opened the door to a small bathroom. 

“You girls clean up while the Hound and I talk. Do you like pancakes?” 

Both girls nodded. Arya was practically salivating. 

“Good. Towels in the cabinet. You have clothes to change into?” 

They shook their heads, but the Hound nodded. 

“I brought them T-shirts. Should hang to their knees at least.”

“It’ll do for now. I’ll buy them some new ones later.” 

Sandor handed the right bag to the girls, then followed Davos down the hallway, trailed by the sound of running water. Davos pushed his way into a kitchen that also seemed to function as a dining room, study, and some kind of art studio judging by the papers on the table. 

“Clear that off,” Davos said, pointing to the table. He pulled several items from the fridge and set them on the counter. “Tell me the story. The whole story.” 

The Hound told him the whole story, and Davos burned more than just the first pancake while he listened. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “They’re evil. They’re fucking evil.” 

“Evilest little shits I’ve ever seen,” Sandor agreed. 

“You’re sure they raped her? And shot the little one?” 

“She made me stop at the pharmacy for a fucking pregnancy pill. And I saw the arrow myself.” 

Davos shook his head, his mouth grim as he piled pancakes on the plate. 

“I don’t have your usual fee,” Sandor said, feeling awkward. “Not even half. If you can take care of the girls and their brother, I’ll make do. There’s not much you can do for me anyway.” 

Davos looked at him with an incredulous expression. 

“Are you questioning my skills?” He asked. 

“Course not. I wouldn’t have brought them here if I didn’t think you could help them.” 

“I will help _all of you_. I haven’t forgotten what you did for me in Afghanistan. Now here. Start before they get cold.” 

Sandor helped himself to half of the pancakes on the platter, not stopping for forks, knives or syrup. Davos chuckled as he poured more batter onto the griddle. 

The kitchen door opened slowly, and a tiny face peered around the doorway. 

“Good, you found us. Come have some pancakes, little one.” 

“Arya,” she said, coming fully into the room. Sandor had to smile at the sight of her in his T-shirt, which brushed the tops of her feet. Someone, he suspected Sansa, had pinned the neck of his shirt to make it smaller so that it would stay up on Arya’s narrow shoulders. Arya raced over to the table and grabbed a handful of pancakes, eating much like the Hound had. 

Sansa was much more demure; whether it was from shyness or good manners, Sandor couldn’t tell. Like Arya, the neck of Sandor’s shirt was pinned to keep it from falling down her thin frame. The white T-shirt just brushed her knees, and patches of wet from her shower had turned the shirt see-through in places. Sandor looked away as she slid into the chair next to him and spooned a pancake on her plate. 

“That all you want?” Davos asked, setting another platter of pancakes on the table behind her.

“Oh. No, I thought—to save the last one for you,” Sansa said, blushing up to the roots of her hair. Davos smiled, his eyes taking on a kind light. 

“You remind me of my daughter,” he told Sansa. “Shireen.” 

“Does she live here with you?” Sansa asked. 

Davos shook his head. “She passed away. Some time ago.” 

Sansa and Arya exchanged horrified looks. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sansa said. 

“Thank you, my dear.” Davos patted her hand, then reached over to ruffle Arya’s hair. Arya flinched, and he froze, then put his hand down. 

They ate while Davos chatted about nothing, trying to get some cheer into the tense room. 

“Have you eaten enough?” he asked the girls once they’d pushed their plates away. They nodded. Arya burped. 

“Time to get some sleep, then. You’ll have to share the bed I’m afraid. I don’t often have this much company.” 

“Thank you very much, Mr.—“ 

“Just Davos. And the pleasure is mine.” 

Davos opened another door just off the kitchen. It was a small whitewashed room with a twin bed. 

“I’ll be close by if you need anything.” 

“And you?” Sansa asked, turning to Sandor with a note of desperation he found surprising. 

“I’ll be here, little bird.”

This seemed to comfort her, for she argued no more but turned and climbed onto the bed, curled around her little sister like they were one person. 

Davos closed the door on the sad tableaux, feeling as angry as he’d been the day Shireen died. How could anyone hurt such sweet little girls? 

“You’ll be needing a good rest,” Davos told Sandor, leading him to a larger bedroom. “It’s not long enough, but it should do.” He motioned to a neatly made bed under a thick blue quilt. The room was done up in wood panelling, like a ship’s cabin. 

“Couch is fine for me,” Sandor mumbled, feeling awkward. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. How are you going to look after those girls if you can barely keep your eyes open? You need to sleep.” 

Too tired to argue, Sandor nodded and collapsed backward on the bed, stopping only to kick off his shoes before he swung his legs up. His feet hung off the end of the bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Good night old friend,” Davos said, closing the door behind him. Before the lock had latched, Sandor had fallen into a dreamless sleep. 

Davos padded into the kitchen and sat down at the table with the bottle of jack. He poured himself a shot and let the burning liquid wake him up. He wasn’t physically tired, but mentally he was exhausted. The task before him was monumental. 

Where to start? How to erase three—no, four people, they’d mentioned a brother—from the face of the earth? How to protect them from the most powerful family in the country? 

He’d start from the outside in, he decided. They couldn’t stay in those T-shirts forever. 

Scribbling a note for Sandor, Davos grabbed his wallet and keys and climbed the stairs. He typed the code into a keypad and let himself out the small back door to the spot where his car was parked. It was a short drive to the thrift store and Davos pulled into the parking lot of the thrift shop just as a woman was flipping the sign to “Open.” He kept himself from smiling at her—better to match the usual surly clientele here—but nodded as he passed. He headed straight for the clothes, wrinkling his nose at the musty smell that lingered around everything here. Most of the clothes looked tired, like they’d lived too many lives. Davos felt slightly guilty about putting the girls in these garments, but it was better that no one remember them. Better that they be unremarkable. 

“Can I help you find anything?” A saleslady asked, a motherly smile on her wide face. 

“I need clothes for an eleven year old boy and a fourteen year old girl.”

“Your children?” The lady asked with a knowing smile.

“Yes,” he said, flashing a small smile at her in return. Why did women have to be so bloody nosy?

“Lovely. Well here are the boys clothes. What kind of things does he like? We have trucks—dinosaurs—“ 

“He likes everything. And he needs pants too. And underwear, if you have it.” 

“I think we can find something,” the woman said, rifling through the clothes. Davos picked up a loose-fitting polo shirt, but quickly decided against it. It was too unisex. The woman was right—better a shirt obviously meant for a boy. 

He picked up a few T-shirts he thought might fit, and the woman piled several pairs of jeans and khakis into his cart. He picked one up and examined them. He should have looked at the girls’ clothes more carefully before he left. It was hard to tell.

“Have you any belts?” he asked. The woman pointed to a rack behind him, and he took a plain looking child-size one from the bottom. “Underwear?” 

She held up a package of superhero underpants that was mercifully unopened. He smiled. Boy’s or not, he thought Arya would like them. 

“Thank you.” 

“My pleasure. And your daughter? What does she like?” 

“More of a mix. Dresses and jeans.”

“Do you know her size?” 

“Er—not really. She’s quite thin but also tall. About 5’8. A small or medium in T shirts, I think.” 

“Well the dresses won’t be a problem. They have more give, so they’re easy to fit. We’ll just have to guess on the jeans.” 

Davos picked up a hideous dress covered in tiny blue flowers. 

“Oh no, that’s nothing for a teenager. Try those.” She pointed at another rack of dresses. A denim shirt dress caught his eye. It was in good condition, and looked to be the right size. Next to it was a velvety sleeveless dress with little beaded flowers. And beyond that was another flowered cotton dress, but this one was sweet instead of hideous. He took all three and put them in his cart. The woman came up behind him and added a few pairs of jeans—some with broken rhinestones, some with faded embroidery—and several shirts. He added a jean jacket that might fit Sansa, and a hoodie that would probably be just a bit big on Arya.

“Do you have underwear? And…bras?” He cleared his throat. He never imagined he’d be buying underthings for a teenage girl. Not since Shireen had died. 

“How large is she?” The woman asked. 

“Maybe a B?” he ventured. She nodded and rifled through some things on another table. This underwear was loose in a little bowl, not packaged. He cringed a little, but it couldn’t be helped. People at thrift stores came in with odd requests all the time. People at a Walmart would be remembered for theirs. 

When everything was piled in his now-overflowing cart, he made his way back to the checkout line. A large bookshelf caught his eye, and he pulled a few volumes from the shelf. The girls had nothing. It would be good to distract them from their thoughts for a while. 

The lady rang him up, and he was pleasantly surprised when the total come to $60. That was another benefit of the thrift store. He wasn’t a poor man, but why waste money? 

He was so focused on his shopping that he never realized that the TV in the corner was showing some very familiar faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a bonus chapter this week! Pretty please leave reviews, they make my life. And feel free to let me know if there's something you like or don't like.


	5. Scars

As Davos shopped, things were quiet in the basement bunker. Arya was passed out, drooling a little on the pillow as she curled up on her good shoulder. Sandor also slept hard and deep, exhausted by the events of the day. Sansa was wide awake. 

The creak of a hinge made Sandor crack an eye and grip the gun under his pillow. He tensed, ready to pull it if need be. 

A tendril of red hair snaked around the doorway, followed by a blue eye. Sandor huffed and released the gun, then turned on his bedside lamp. 

“What are you doing here girl?” he asked. Sansa blushed pink, but she edged closer until she stood entirely inside the open door. 

“I wanted to see if you were still here,” she said, so softly he barely caught it above the hum of the lights. 

“Aye. I’m here. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

She folded her arms over her chest and hugged herself. 

“Nightmares?” Sandor asked. She nodded, then winced. 

“You in pain?” 

She hesitated, looking at the floor. Then she nodded again. Her eyes flew up, searching his face, as though she expected him to be mad at her. Sandor couldn’t fathom why she thought he’d be mad at her over something like that. 

“Where does it hurt?” He asked, then felt like a royal idiot. She was covered in bruises and cuts. It probably hurt everywhere. It probably hurt to breathe. 

“Here,” Sansa said, pointing to a spot on her abdomen. 

Sandor stood up and approached her slowly, half-expecting her to back away. She didn’t. She stood perfectly still as he probed the spot with careful fingers. Sansa hissed, and to Sandor’s surprise a spot of blood appeared through the T-shirt. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Sansa said, looking down at the stain. “I’ll wash it, I promise.” 

“Bugger the T-shirt,” Sandor said. He leaned down and rifled through the duffel bag, then pulled out a pair of clean boxer shorts. He tossed them to Sansa, who caught them at the last moment. 

“Put those on, and tie your shirt up.” He motioned to a spot on his ribcage, indicating she should tie the shirt just under her breasts. “I’m going to get the first aid kit.” 

He brushed past her and heard the door click softly shut behind him as he fetched the first aid kit from the entranceway. He took his time on purpose, and the bedroom door was open when he got back. Sansa sat on the edge of the bed, positively swimming in the boxers. It was almost enough to make him smile. The shirt was clumsily tied and looked ridiculous, with billows of fabric covering her from neck to ribs. She’d draped the blanket over her bare midsection. 

“Can’t help you if you don’t move that, little bird,” Sandor grumbled.Sansa slowly cast the blanket aside. 

Sandor dropped the first aid kit with a thunk. Sansa’s abdomen was a mass of swollen bruises, as though she’d been punched repeatedly, or maybe hit with something harder than a fist. Large purple handprints crawled up the sides of her hips and waist, and disappeared under the T-shirt. Above her bellybutton, in the spot he’d touched, were congealed cuts that formed the letter “R.” One of them had broken open and was bleeding freely. 

“Fuck me,” Sandor breathed. Sansa’s head hung, her hair cascading over her shoulders. “Did they cut you anywhere else?” 

Without looking at him, Sansa turned, and he could see her back. Mottled blues, purples,and yellows littered her spine, and an actual boot print had formed in purple bruises on her lower back. Sandor didn’t see a cut, and was about to ask where it was when Sansa hiked her shirt up over her shoulder blades. There, on her right shoulder blade, was a bloody “J.” 

The rage exploded in him, and he punched the wall as hard as he could. 

“Fuck!” He said, and Sansa jumped off the bed, lowering her shirt and holding the boxers closed with her fist as she shrank back against the wall. 

“I’m-I’m sorry” she said, cowering in the corner. “Please don’t—please.” She began to cry, and her tears extinguished most of his rage as quickly as it had come. 

“You didn’t do anything, little bird” he said, cursing himself and his god-damned tamper for spooking her. “It’s those fucking perverts who ought to be damned to the seven hells.” Sansa sniffled, looking up at him through the tears in her eyes. When she was all frightened and scared like this, Sandor found it hard to believe that she’d dragged her sister through miles of woods at night to find safety. The girl was bird and wolf, porcelain and steel, tears and grit. She was a mystery, and Sandor had never been very good with mysteries.

“Those need to be cleaned,” Sandor said, motioning her to sit back down. She carefully perched on the very edge of the bed. Once or twice she glanced nervously at the pillows behind her, as though she was afraid he would pin her down and rape her. The thought filled him with rage again, but he was careful to stay calm this time. The girl had been through enough, and she wasn’t going to learn to trust him if he kept acting like a fucking animal.

“This’ll sting,” Sandor warned, putting some antiseptic on a cotton ball. Sansa nodded and gripped her boxers in one hand and the bedspread in the other. She winced as Sandor cleaned the cuts, first the one on her ribs, then the one on her back. When he was done he sat back and took his time looking her over. Most of the cuts on her legs and arms were scratches, probably from branches, but a few could do with better care. He cleaned them too, and bandaged everything. 

“Where’d you learn this?” Sansa asked quietly. 

“Army,” he grunted, unwilling to answer questions about those days. Luckily, she didn’t ask anything more.

“Is there anything that needs cleaning that’s still covered?” He asked. She nodded. 

“Can I do it myself?” 

He handed over the supplies, and she took them into the bathroom. Sandor laid back on his bed, giving way to his homicidal feelings. If he ever found those fuckers again, he would rip them limb from limb. The thought of them holding the little bird down, raping her as she cried, carving their initials into her skin—he would kill them if it was the last thing he ever did. 

“Are you okay?” 

He started at the quiet voice. Sansa was in the doorway again, holding her supplies and looking at him with concern. 

“You want to know if _I’m_ okay?” He asked incredulously. Sansa blushed again. Must be a redhead thing, Sandor thought, as he watched her color up to the roots of her hair. 

“Stupid question,” Sansa mumbled, feeling childish. She’d woken him up in the middle of the night and ruined his life. Of course he wasn’t okay. 

As though he could read her mind, Sandor shook his head. 

“I’m fine, girl. Were you able to clean everything?” 

Hesitantly, Sansa shook her head. She handed the cleaning supplies back to him. 

“What—?” His question was cut off as Sansa hiked the back of the shirt all the way up to her neck, keeping the front pressed to her chest. A few inches below the base of her neck was an almost perfect bite mark. 

“I got the other ones,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t reach this one. I don’t want Arya to see.”

Sandor gritted his teeth. _Little birds are easily spooked,_ he thought, reminding himself over and over to stop losing his shit. It was the image of Sansa scared that kept him in line more than anything. Wordlessly he motioned for her to sit down, and began to clean the bite. 

There were sniffles, and he stopped what he was doing, his hand suspended over jagged flesh. 

“Am I hurting you?” he asked gruffly. She shook her head, but the sniffles continued.

“What then?” Sandor asked, exasperated. 

“I’m just—I’m so—“ Sansa said into her palms. 

“So what?”

“Ugly,” Sansa whispered. “They’ll be on me forever because I couldn’t fight them off!” 

Before he could consider the wisdom of his actions, Sandor gripped her shoulders and spun her around to face him. His heart broke at the sight of her, red eyes framed in purpling bruises, more proof that people bigger and stronger had hurt her.

“Listen up girl,” he said, half snarling. “You couldn’t fight them off because there were two of them, and they were bigger, and they were fucking _men_ , not little girls. That’s not your shame to carry.” 

His outburst had shocked her into silence, but she was no longer crying. 

“You know how I got these scars?” He asked her, pointing to his face. Sansa shook her head.

“When I was six, I took one of my brother’s toys. He was fourteen, and as big as a grown man. He didn’t give a shit about the toy, but when he saw me with it, he held my face to the fire. Kept it there as I screamed.” 

Sansa’s mouth dropped open. 

“That’s horrible.” 

“Aye. He’s a monster. Should I feel bad that I let him do that to me? That I didn’t fight him off?” 

Sansa shook her head. “Of course not. You were just a child.” 

“So. Are. You.” His fingers gripped her shoulders tightly as he searched her face, making sure she understood him. Sansa hesitated, biting her lip, then nodded. Sandor let her go, and focused on bandaging the bite on her back. 

“As for the other thing,” he said uncomfortably, glad that he didn’t have to look her in the eyes for this, “you don’t have to worry about that.” 

“What?” 

Sandor coughed.

“Your…looks,” he said finally. “You’re a damn pretty girl. Prettiest girl I’ve seen, could be. It’d take more than a few scars to change that.” 

Sansa blushed, and a little smile crept over her face. 

“Thanks,” she said. 

“Yeah. Well. Don’t let it go to your head,” he grumbled, embarrassed. He finished tending her wound, and pulled her shirt back down. 

They looked at each other, unsure what to do now. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Sandor said bluntly. “I know you told your brother you weren’t sure you could trust me. That’s alright. It’s better not to be a trusting fool. But I won’t hurt you. I might piss and moan and rage and slam my fist in a wall, but I’ve never hurt a woman and I’m not about to start with you two.” There was silence. “You hear me, girl?”

To his surprise, Sansa looked him right in the eye and nodded. A tremulous smile passed over her lips. 

“Thank you,” she said. He dismissed her gratitude with a wave of his hand. 

“Don’t thank me for doing what any man ought to do.” 

Sansa leaned over and kissed his cheek, right on his scars. 

“Thank you anyway,” she said, then slipped out of his room as quietly as she had come. 

Sandor flopped back on his bed, shaking his head at himself. 

“I’m going soft,” he grumbled. But he’d meant what he said. If the girl was 20, or 25, he’d be head over heels in love right now. But she was 14, a _young_ fourteen despite all that had happened to her, and he’d be damned if he was going to be one more monster in her closet. He wasn’t a religious man, and frankly thought that any god out there was as sadistic as his bastard of a brother. But he couldn’t help feeling like the sky had opened and dropped these two girls in his lap for a reason. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reviewing--I'm like a little kid on Christmas every time I get one!  
> I know this story is quite dark, but I hope you're enjoying reading it anyway.


	6. Erasing

Sandor didn’t even bother closing his eyes again. He knew the image of the little bird’s scars was going to keep him awake for a long, long time. He busied himself briefly with collecting all of their stuff at the bottom of the stairs. When he stopped in the bathroom to take a piss, he noticed that the girls’ blood-soaked clothes had been stuffed into the small trashcan. Shaking his head, he took the trashcan into the kitchen and rummaged around the drawers and cabinets until he found several large Ziplock bags. 

“What are you doing?” An accusing voice asked. Arya had appeared in the doorway, trailing Sandor’s T-shirt to the floor. Her hair was mussed, and her eyes were shadowed, as though she’d gotten less sleep instead of more during her nap. 

“Evidence,” Sandor grunted, putting the clothes in the Ziplock bags.

“Why? We’re not going to the police.” 

“Someday we’re going to bring those bastards down.”

“Can we shoot them?” Arya asked, her tone as casual as if she’d just asked to spend the afternoon at the beach. 

Sandor studied the small face, and saw no hint of fear or humor in her eyes. 

“Maybe,” he said finally. “But if we do, it’ll be me doing the shooting.” 

Arya sighed. “You’re just like Sansa.” 

Sandor smiled at that. He was the exact opposite of the little bird—rough, gruff, and mean where she was small, refined, and sweet. Privately, he thought he was a lot more like the little wolf, though even she was sweet behind her snarl.

“When we get somewhere safe, and you get older, maybe I’ll teach you how to shoot,” Sandor said, the words coming out of his mouth before he even processed them. Then he wanted to smack himself in the forehead. When she was older? The whole point was that he was going to get them to their brother, then get the hell out of dodge. He wasn’t sticking around for playtime. 

Arya didn’t seem to notice his regret. She was grinning. “Cool.” 

After a moment, though, she got a far-away look on her face. 

“What?” Sandor grumped. 

“Why are you helping us?”

“Because you need help,” Sandor said, not sure how else to answer the blunt question.

“We don’t have anything to give you.” 

“Who says I want anything?” 

“Everybody wants something,” Arya said with a tone of finality.

Sandor sat back in his chair, mulling over the little Yoda’s show of wisdom. He appreciated the skepticism on her face. She was smart. Maybe it would save her life someday. 

“Is this a penance thing?” Arya asked. “Like, you killed people so now you’ve got to save people?” 

Sandor’s lips twitched. “If it was penance, I’d have to feel sorry. You think I feel sorry for killing those terrorist bastards?” 

“No.” 

“Damn right. Didn’t your parents ever tell you that there are good people in the world?”

Arya nodded. 

“So why can’t I just be the great guy who happened to save your sorry asses?” 

“They told us there was a Santa Clause too,” Arya pointed out. Sandor laughed.

“Fair enough. You’re right. I’ve met a handful of good men in my life, and most of them died. I’ve never been a good man. You want the truth?” 

Arya nodded. 

“I’m a fucking bastard. I _like_ killing Taliban, I _like_ beating drunks in bars, and I _like_ drinking until I’m so blind drunk I can’t find the shitter. But I _hate_ people who hurt women. And I really fucking hate people who hurt kids.” 

“So hurting men is okay with you?” Arya asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Sandor shrugged. “A man’s gotta have a code.” 

He sat quietly as Arya thought over what he’d said. 

“I have a code,” she said at last. 

Sandor raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Playtime for Teletubbies?” 

Arya shot him a withering look. 

“I won’t die today.” 

The beep of a motion sensor kept Sandor from asking just what the hell kind of code that was. He whipped his gun out from the small of his back, and took up position by the kitchen door. With his free hand, he motioned for Arya to get back in the tiny bedroom. 

Nothing moved in the house, and Sandor strained to hear anything unusual. After a while, he heard the distinct click and buzz of the front door, and steps descended the stair case. 

Sandor backed up and held his gun on the kitchen door. The door swung open and Davos Seaworth nearly dropped the bags he was holding. 

“Christ Clegane, are you trying to give an old man a heart attack?” 

“Ever hear of announcing yourself?” Sandor grumbled, shoving the gun back into his waistband. 

“I’ll be sure to try it next time you’re visiting.” 

“Won’t be a next time, if you’re good at your job,” Sandor said. 

Davos chuckled. “Are the girls still sleeping?”

“Nope,” Sandor said. He walked over and pounded on the bedroom door. “Come on! It’s just Davos. Get your asses out of bed so we can get going!” 

The door opened and Arya and Sansa looked out with a timid air. Sansa smiled when she saw Davos, which rankled Sandor a bit. He’d driven the girl cross country, given her first aid, and she was happiest to see the old fool who’d just bought her some clothes? Girls.

“Are these for us?” Sansa breathed, reaching out and touching one of the bags lightly.

“Aye. Those are for you. And this bag is for your brother.” 

Sansa pulled her hand back and looked up at Davos in confusion. “You bought Jon clothes?” 

“Nope. Your _new_ brother,” Davos said. He handed the bag to Arya, who pulled out a T-shirt with sports balls on it. She held it against herself, her brow furrowed. 

“Meet Aaron,” Davos said. He handed Sansa a dress. “And Elaine.” 

“Why do you always give people such fruity names?” Sandor groused. 

“Because I had those IDs already. Don’t you want to know your name?” 

“Rhaegar? Aerys? Some fruity shit like that?” 

“Nope. You’re Victor. I thought you’d like it. I’m making it special for you.” 

Sandor shrugged, but it was better than he thought it would be. And it was a good constant reminder that he needed to win this one. 

“What’s our last name?” Sansa asked. 

“Smith.” 

“What about Jon?” Arya demanded. 

“Sam. Smith as well.” The girls visibly relaxed. 

“So—I get to be a boy?” Arya asked. 

“Yes ma’am. And first things first. You’re going to need a haircut.” 

Sandor expected the girls to protest their makeovers, but neither said a word as Davos brought out his scissors. He chopped Arya’s hair so that it hung in slightly uneven tendrils around her eyes and ears. Hair curled to the floor and laid there at their feet, as though the little wolf was shedding her fur. 

“Take a look” Davos said. Arya clutched the small mirror he gave her. 

“I look like a boy,” she stated. Davos chuckled. 

“That’s the idea. Now if you’ll go and help the Hound with the laundry, we can get you out of that T-shirt into some real clothes.” 

Arya nodded and slid off the stool. Sansa hesitantly took her place. 

“Okay my dear. You are a bit more complicated than your sister. We’re going to have to dye that pretty hair of yours. You understand why?” 

Sansa nodded. 

“All right.” Davos began to snip at her hair. Long locks of red fell to the floor, and Sansa couldn’t help feeling like with each snip, a piece of her fell with them. _She was no longer Catelyn and Eddard Starks’ daughter._ A lock of hair gone. _No longer Robb’s baby sister._ More hair floated to the ground. _She’d never again toss a ball with Bran or roughhouse with Rickon._ Her hair was close to her shoulders now. She’d never had it this short before. 

“Are you going to cut it all, like Arya’s?” She asked, more curious than worried. Davos shook his head. 

“You’re too old and feminine to pass for a boy. When a girl’s hair is very short, it frames her face and draws attention to it. We don’t want attention.” As if to prove his point, he put down the scissors. Sansa reached for the mirror, but Davos stopped her. 

“Not yet.” He pulled out the box of brown hair dye that Sansa recognized from the pharmacy bag. Sandor had prepared for this. Sansa followed Davos into the bathroom, making sure the door was left open. Davos washed her hair in the sink, then massaged the dye through her roots. Sansa was tense, but Davos was careful to keep his hands only on her hair. The wait felt like it took forever, as Sansa sat on the toilet lid with her head wet and cold under the florescent lights. 

“All right,” Davos said, after the right amount of time had passed. “Towel off.”

Sansa took the towel and did as he asked. When she pulled the towel off of her hair, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and froze. 

She wasn’t Sansa. Her hair was dark brown, like a Hershey bar, and fell just below her shoulders. The color made her features more severe, her cheekbones more pronounced. It made her look older and paler.

“Have you ever used contacts?” Davos asked, eyeing her as an artist eyes his painting. 

Sansa shook her head. She had perfect vision. She’d never had a reason to use contacts. 

Davos left the room and came back with a small box. 

“You put them in one at a time, with your finger—yes, like that. Careful.” 

It took a few tries, but when Sansa put them in and blinked a few times, she found that they weren’t too uncomfortable. And when her eyes finally focused on her reflection, she gasped out loud. Her blue eyes were now an unremarkable brown.

“Perfect,” Davos declared, cleaning up the boxes. “You, my dear, are going to make a lovely Elaine Smith.” 

Sansa tried to smile at him, but the name had chilled her to her core. She really wasn’t Sansa anymore. She might not ever be Sansa Stark again. 

“Whoa,” Arya’s voice made Sansa turn. Arya was barely recognizable in her new clothes. A pair of large cargo shorts slung low around her hips, and a Dinosaur T-shirt draped casually over her torso the way boy clothes do. With her haircut and sneakers, she only needed a skateboard and some headphones to complete her look. 

“Whoa to you too,” Sansa said, smiling a little. 

“We brought you clothes,” Arya said. Sandor appeared in the doorway next to Arya, holding a bunch of garments in his arms. His mouth opened when he saw Sansa. 

“Holy shit,” he said. “I wouldn’t have recognized you if you’d smacked me in the face.”

Sansa laughed. The sound made everyone else freeze, as though a rare creature had been released in their midst and if they moved they might accidentally kill it. 

They left her alone to get dressed, but as soon as they were away from Sansa Arya looked up into Sandor’s face. He thought he saw a flash of gratitude on her small features, but it quickly morphed into a scowl and she began to fidget. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Sandor asked. 

Arya laid a hand on her hip and tried to adjust her clothes. 

“Boy underwear is so _weird,”_ she said finally, and Sandor threw his head back and roared with laughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	7. Papers and Plans

There was little to do now but wait while Davos disappeared into a locked room with new digital photos of the girls. Sandor sat on the sofa, counting the money he had left while Arya and Sansa tried on all of their clothes. Arya had been lucky with fit, but many of Sansa’s garments were either ill fitting or showed off too much bruised flesh. She finally settled on the velvet dress and jean jacket, which covered her arms and most of her neck once it was zipped up. The bruises and cuts on her shins couldn’t be helped. Sandor vowed to pick up some of those panty hose tight things for her if they had a chance. 

Ill fitting or not, the sisters were so happy to have fresh clothes that they were positively giddy. Even Sansa found herself in a more cheerful mood. The bras were a little small, but so what? She was just grateful that Sandor had picked her up some packaged underwear at the pharmacy the night before. It was a bit loose, but elastic was elastic. 

“What about Jon?” Sansa asked Sandor. “Does he need a disguise?”

Sandor shrugged. “If he’s smart, he brought clothes with him. We can shave his head or dye his hair if we have to.” 

Sansa gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. 

“What?” Sandor asked, feeling wrong-footed for the umpteenth time.

“Jon will _hate_ that,” Sansa said. “Robb always says he’s never met a girl he likes better than his own hair.” She giggled, and Arya grinned. 

“Remember his man-bun phase?” Arya asked. Sansa nodded and the two of them collapsed into laughter. 

Sandor’s mouth curled into a smile. He’d never been around kids much. Most kids were afraid of him, and he didn’t want to deal with their sticky hands and runny noses anyway. But he kind of liked these two and their chatter. At least when they were happy. 

“Where are we going to go?” Arya said finally, sitting backwards in a chair and peering at Sandor over the top of it.

“Wherever Davos can take us.” 

“Is he…is he like…” 

“Spit it out, little bird.” 

“Does he do _illegal_ stuff?” 

“You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to,” Sandor growled. 

“I want to know the answer,” Arya said. 

“He does a lot of things. But if you can’t see he’s a good man, you’re not the smart girls I thought you were.” 

Both girls looked shame-faced. 

“We know how good he’s been to us,” Sansa amended. “I was just wondering how he knew how to do all this.” 

“He’s done it before,” Sandor said. 

“He’s done it before? With people like us?” Arya asked. 

Sandor finished counting his money and stuffed it back into his bag. 

“Little wolf, I don’t think _any_ smuggler has had a case like you two.” 

“That’s the Gods-honest truth,” Davos said, emerging from the locked room. “Here. I present you with Elaine and Aaron Smith. Elaine is 16, Aaron is 10. It’s better if their ages are a little off. Sam Smith is now 23. Here are passports for all three. I printed their brother’s photo off his college website and photoshopped it. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do. I suggest you change his hair and buy him some sunglasses, because he’s entirely too handsome for his own good.” The girls giggled again. Davos turned to Sandor.

“You are Victor Nelson, 58.” 

“Fifty-eight? How the fuck old do you think I look?” 

“Not as old as you’re going to look when I’m done with you.” 

“Is Sandor going to get a makeover?” Arya asked, her eyes shining with mischief. 

“Makeovers are for princesses and nances,” Sandor scoffed. 

“Can we help?” Sansa begged. Both girls looked so happy at the thought, Sandor secretly resolved that he’d let them paint his toenails pink and perm him like a poodle if it kept them smiling like that. 

“Maybe in a bit,” Davos chuckled. “First, I want you to grab that makeup case under the bathroom sink. And the grey hair dye.” 

“Hold on just a motherfucking minute,” Sandor snapped, standing up so that he towered over Davos.

“My friend, this is just until you get out of the country. Then you can rip it off, wash your hair, and go back to your usual gorgeous self.” 

Sansa returned, struggling under the weight of an enormous black case. 

“You a crossdresser, Seaworth?” Sandor asked, eyeing the huge cosmetic kit as he sat back down. 

“And waste good makeup? No, this stuff is expensive. I save it for my best clientele.”

Davos pulled out tray after tray of makeup. He cracked his knuckles. 

“Okay. One age-up, coming up.” 

Sansa and Arya watched, fascinated as Davos began to paint different liquids on Sandor’s face. One of them looked like liquid skin. Layer after layer was added on, wrinkles emerged, frown lines turned into laugh lines. Davos took a spray can of instant hair dye and turned Sandor’s black hair the color of wolf fur. 

“What do you think?” Davos asked, whipping Sandor around so the girls could see. 

Arya’s mouth dropped open. 

“You look like my _grandpa_ ,” she said. “Only, taller. And uglier.” 

“Arya!” Sansa chastised. She reached out a hand as though to touch Sandor’s face, then thought better of it. “You don’t look anything like you. Even your scars look different.” 

“And that, my dear, is precisely the point.” Davos whipped out his camera and took a picture of Sandor. “You can wash that off now. I’ll redo it before you leave. It won’t last more than 24 hours most likely. Less if you keep scratching at your face.” 

Sandor scowled and put his hand down. The makeup was itchier than sweat in an ass crack. He couldn’t help looking in the mirror though, before he washed it off. The man staring back in the glass didn’t just look older, he looked kinder. Friendlier. Like someone who’d spent his life guffawing instead of growling. The liquid skin painted over his scars made his skin so much smoother that it barely even looked like a burn. Was this who he would have been in another life? 

Frowning, he plunged his hands into the sink and scrubbed the makeup off. 

 

 

With the papers done, the girls were left to amuse themselves. Sansa practiced putting her contacts in and taking them out until her eyes were dry. Arya found an old Swiss Army Knife of Davos’s and spent hours familiarizing herself with the different attachments. It had two small knives, a file, a screwdriver, and a compass embedded in the handle. There was also a corkscrew and a round thing that Davos said was a bottle opener, with a little hook for opening cans. Arya tested them all on things she found around the basement.

Sandor and Davos shut themselves up in the kitchen, speaking in low voices. It wasn’t until the girls heard Jon’s name that they looked at each other and crept over to the closed door, pressing their ears against the wood. 

“They’re more likely to recognize me than him,” Sandor was saying. “He should take the girls out of the country. I can fly separately.” 

“It’s still too risky. Airport security is much tighter now. If the girls have been on the news, or if your name and description is on a list, they’re much more likely to get recognized.” 

“Well what the fuck do you suggest then? Because short of removing my fucking face from my head, I can’t look any more different than you already made me look.” 

“I have a friend. He’s smuggled for me in the past. He has boats. I want to sail you out.” 

“Sail across the Atlantic in a dinky boat? Have you gone senile old man?” 

“Perhaps sail was the wrong word. How about a nice thirty-foot yacht?” 

“Is that supposed to slip under the radar?” 

“Yes, actually. You’ll be on a pleasure cruise around the world with a multimillionaire. No one will likely even check your papers until you arrive in Turkey.” 

“What the fuck are we going to Turkey for?” 

“You’ll sail across the Atlantic, through the Straight of Gibraltar, and into the Medditerranean sea. You’ll have to cross Turkey to reach the Black Sea. From there it’s a straight shot to Moldova.” 

“I’ve never even heard of Moldova.” 

“Good. That’s the point. It’s random, it’s not covered in Sharia law, and it doesn’t have an extradition agreement with the U.S.” 

“What’s plan B?” 

“Mexico. You drive down to the border, use your new papers to get across, and then keep going as far as you can. From there, you can take a boat anywhere.” 

“I don’t like it. A plane ride takes a day. We’d be there in hours. This way would take weeks, maybe months. More chances to get recognized.” 

“You’ll be in the middle of the ocean. There’s no one to recognize you.” 

There was silence. Arya looked up at Sansa, who shrugged her shoulders. She had no idea what to think, let alone what to say. 

“If we get those girls killed…” Sandor said, his voice rumbling as he tried to speak quietly. 

“We won’t, my friend. We’re saving their lives.” 

There was a large sigh. 

“Okay. But first we have to get to the God’s Eye. Pick up their brother.” 

“Not a problem. I’ll have my friend meet you there.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“They call him Littlefinger.” 

“And you trust him?” 

“He’s a crook through and through, but there’s no better smuggler anywhere.”

“I told the girls’ brother to meet us at the God’s Eye tomorrow at noon.” 

“You’d best get on the road first thing, then. It must be a six hour drive from here, easy.” 

“I owe you a debt,” Sandor said, sounding like his teeth were gritted. “I might never be able to repay it.” 

“You owe me nothing, my friend. But I have to ask. Are you sure this is what you want to do? You’re risking your life and your freedom for two girls you don’t know. It may be that the police would help them without you.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Arya looked up to see her sister hugging herself tightly, her face paler than ever. 

“No. I know how the goddamn world works. Money turns good men bad. I’ve met people who would stab their own mother for a hundred bucks. I can’t risk turning them over, and I sure as hell can’t leave them on their own. I may be a dog, but even I’m not that fucked up.” 

“You’re not a dog, my friend. You’re a man, and a good one at that. Shall we tell the girls the plan?” 

Sansa hastily stepped away from the door, and in doing so tripped over Arya, who fell backwards, landing with a thump in a tangle of limbs.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the kitchen. Sandor yanked open the door and stared down at the sheepish girls with a combination of anger, exasperation, and amusement. 

“Don’t need to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think of the chapter? And what do you think of Davos's plan?


	8. Good Talk

 

Davos cooked them dinner, refusing offers of help. 

“Relax, enjoy yourselves,” he said. “You have a long day tomorrow.” 

Arya thought it was a pea-brained thing to say. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to relax again. Certainly not until they’d gotten Jon and left the country. Even then, she thought she’d probably sleep with one eye open for the rest of her life. 

Sansa sat at the bottom of the stairs, folding and packing their new clothes and redistributing items so that they each had an outfit in the emergency duffel. Arya plopped down next to her. 

‘’Need help?” She asked. Sansa shook her head.

“No, I’m almost done.” She smoothed down the last piece of clothing with a light touch, then zipped up the bag. She smiled at Arya, and reached up to ruffle her hair. 

“You look adorable, you know.” 

“Yeah, like an adorable _boy_ ,” Arya said, batting her hand away. 

“Does that bother you?” 

“No. Not really. I always thought it would be cool to be a boy. No one making you wear dresses or trying to give you pink things.” 

“But…?” Sansa prompted gently. 

“ _You_ couldn’t pass for a boy even if you tried.” 

A smile twitched on Sansa’s lips, and for a moment Arya was embarrassed that she’d said anything. 

“I could have passed for a boy,” Sansa said, “when I was little. It’s not because you’re not pretty. It’s because you haven’t hit puberty yet. It’s a good thing. I hit it early. It makes life a lot more complicated.” She sat still for a moment, and Arya wondered what she was thinking about. Then Sansa leaned over and pushed Arya’s good shoulder lightly with hers. 

“You can ask me questions, you know. I’m not…well, I’m just me, but I’ll do my best to answer them.” 

Arya flushed. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn of events. 

“No! No, I’m good,” Arya said, climbing to her feet. “I’m gonna go set the table.” 

Arya disappeared through the kitchen door at a remarkable speed. Sansa chuckled lightly to herself as she dusted herself off and stood up. She followed Arya into the kitchen and quickly corrected the haphazard way in which her little sister had tossed utensils onto the table. Arya stuck her tongue out at Sansa, then went back to filching potato chips from a bowl on the counter. 

“Arya, can you go tell Sandor that dinner will be ready in 15 minutes?” Davos asked. Arya nodded and licked the grease and salt off her fingers. 

“And wash your hands!” Sansa called after her. Arya stuck her tongue out again, this time making sure Sansa saw the chip crumbs covering her tongue. 

“Gross,” Arya heard as the door swung shut behind her. She smiled and walked the few steps to Sandor’s door. 

“Hey!” She pounded on the door. It swung open, and Sandor looked down at her with irritation. 

“What? Can’t a man have a drink in peace in this place?” 

“Davos says dinner’s ready in 15 minutes.” Sandor nodded and made to close the door, but Arya caught sight of something in his hand. 

“Whoa,” she said, slipping inside before the door shut. “Is that a knife?” 

“Aye. And you’ll stay far away from it if you know what’s good for you.” Arya looked up, startled by his tone. Suddenly she remembered the glint in Ramsey’s eye as he tied her up, the feel of Joffrey’s breath hot on her. _“If you know what’s good for you…”_ Arya’s breathing came faster and faster until it felt like she couldn’t breathe at all. It felt like someone was sitting on her chest, and her skin was too small for her head and would burst any second.

“Kid. Kid! Arya! Cut that out!” She heard the voice as though from very far away. Then hands gripped her by the shoulders and she lashed out, kicking and hitting as hard as she could. 

“Ow! Look at me! LOOK AT ME!” A voice roared, and Arya opened her eyes, ready to punch Ramsay in the face with all her strength. 

Only it wasn’t Ramsay’s face. This face was burned, with grey eyes and long black hair, and a strange mix of anger and panic. 

Arya’s chest rose and fell a little less quickly, and her legs turned so wobbly she thought she might fall into a heap on the floor. 

“Sit,” Sandor said, pointing to the bed. She did, shaking. 

“Want to tell me what the Sam Hell that was all about?” Sandor asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the dresser. 

“Good for you,” Arya said. Sandor’s forehead wrinkled. 

“You’re gonna have to give me more than that, kid.” 

Arya took a deep breath.

“Joffrey and Ramsay used to say that, to make us do what they wanted.” She shuddered and cradled her hands around her arms, just above her elbows. “I was so stupid. When they came to our campsite, I just thought they were hikers passing by. Then they pulled out their weapons…” 

She swallowed hard. 

“Hey, you don’t have to—“ Sandor said, but Arya didn’t hear him. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked slightly as she talked.

“There was so much blood,” she murmured, more to herself than him. “Have you ever seen blood like that? Like so much that you can’t believe it all came from one person?” 

Sandor sat down on the bed, a couple feet away from her. 

“Aye. I killed a lot of people Little Wolf. All men bleed.” 

“Bran and Rickon weren’t men.” 

“No. They were boys, and they had no business dying.” 

Sandor and Arya sat in silence for a minute. Sandor was immensely uncomfortable. He was no shrink to be helping little kids with trauma. He didn’t play dolls and draw pictures or whatever bullshit they did with kids who’d been fucked over. He didn’t have a clue what to say. 

“I thought they were going to kill me,” Arya said at last. “But they left me alone. I told Rickon to run, and they shot him through the back with an arrow. Maybe if I hadn’t, he’d still be alive.” 

“Or they would have killed him some other way,” Sandor said gruffly, watching the guilt eat through the tiny girl in a way that reminded him of Afghanistan, of losing men and not knowing why they died. 

“Why didn’t they want me?” she asked, her voice small. “I could have taken it. I’m stronger than Sansa. I would have taken it for her. They said they were going to take a turn on me, but they never did.” 

Sandor swallowed, trying hard to suppress the urge to rip someone limb from limb. The little girl couldn’t weigh more than seventy pounds soaking wet. Those men would have torn her to shreds. And she was _still_ wishing she could have been raped so her sister would be spared. That had to be the most twisted thing he’d ever heard. 

“Same thing happened to my little sister,” Sandor found himself saying, “and I couldn’t do a fucking thing about it.” He immediately wished he could take back the words, but Arya was finally looking up at him, her eyes wide. 

“What happened to her?” Arya asked. 

“She died,” Sandor said gruffly. 

“How?”

“She was too small. Sick fuck tore her up inside.” 

“Did you kill him?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“I was eight.” 

Arya frowned. “How old was your sister?” 

“Six.” 

Arya’s eyes widened, then flashed with anger. “Who was it?” 

“Our older brother.” 

Arya looked sickened, her little brain clearly struggling to comprehend that kind of familial cruelty. Sandor couldn’t blame her. 

“Were you there?” she asked. 

“Aye.”

“So you know.” 

“Aye, Little Wolf. I know.” 

“They wanted me to watch too,” Arya said quietly. “They said if I didn’t look, they’d cut off my eyelids and then cut off Sansa’s.” 

“Sick motherfucking cunts,” Sandor muttered.

“She tried not to scream. I think for me. But when they got on top of her, she screamed so loud.” 

Sandor felt bile rise in his throat. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to think about a fourteen year old girl going through that hell. But there was an eleven-year-old kid by his side whose heart was breaking, and he couldn’t simply bandage her cuts and make it better. 

“There wasn’t anything you could do,” Sandor said instead. 

“Yes there was. I could have killed them. I could have begged them to let me go first. I could have done _something_ besides stand there and watch!” 

“If you’d tried, you’d both be dead,” Sandor said flatly. He looked closely at Arya, whose face was twisted in pain and anger. She lowered her head, not arguing with his words, but unable to accept them either. 

“You want to help your sister?” Sandor asked. Arya nodded. 

“Just listen when she’s ready to talk.”

“What if she never wants to talk?” 

“She will. And even if she doesn’t, she’s still going to need you. She loves you something fierce, little girl. So wipe your eyes and let’s go eat. The best thing you can do for her tonight is pretend we’re a happy fucking family.” 

“I’m not crying,” Arya scowled, even as she wiped her eyes. 

Sandor cracked a smile. “Of course you aren’t. Let’s go eat. I’m hungry enough to go after a bear.” 

Arya looked him up and down, still sniffling. “The bear would win,” she announced as she jumped down from the bed and made her way to the kitchen. Sandor’s throaty chuckle followed her down the hall. 

 

Arya took Sandor’s advice, and between the two of them they made dinner as fun as they could. Everyone chatted about light, easy things as they passed plates of food around. The food was cheap: boxed macaroni with hamburger, potato chips, and soda, but it was plentiful and the girls ate as though they were storing up for winter. When her plate had been cleared for a third time, Arya leaned back with a little moan. Sansa did the same. 

“I don’t think I could eat another bite if you paid me,” Sansa said. 

“Wouldn’t waste good money on something like that,” Sandor said. A thought occurred to Sansa.

“How much do we owe you?” Sansa asked Davos, clearly nervous to hear the answer. 

“Nothing, my dear. I owed Sandor a debt. He’s simply cashing in his favor. And anyways, who could possibly turn away such lovely young ladies?” 

Sansa blushed. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now it’s off to bed with both of you. Tomorrow will be a long day.” 

Arya and Sansa went to their room and changed into Sandor’s T-shirts since they had no other pajamas. They laid down on the bed together on their sides, with Sansa curled around Arya’s back. Neither made a move to turn off the light. 

“What were you talking to Sandor about?” Sansa asked, smoothing some hair back behind Arya’s ear. “You were in there for a long time.” 

“The Army mostly.” 

“Why?”

“I was just curious.” 

“You weren’t talking about killing again, were you?” 

Arya turned and looked at Sansa over her shoulder. “So what if I was?” 

Sansa sat partway up, leaning on her elbow. Her newly brown hair fell over her shoulder.

“I don’t want you to be that kind of person.” 

“What kind? The smart kind?” 

“You’re already smart. I don’t want you to be someone who solves problems like that.” 

“They’re not a _problem._ They’re the guys who killed our family.” Arya spat, her contempt cutting Sansa to her core. 

“I know that. I just—I want you to be safe.” 

“How will we ever be safe until they’re dead?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Well, I’m not letting them hurt you, or Jon. So if I have to kill them, I’ll kill them. Gladly.”

Sansa grabbed Arya’s shoulder and rolled her flat onto her back so Arya could see her eyes. 

“Don’t you _ever_ risk your safety for me and Jon. Not ever.” 

Confusion clouded Arya’s eyes. “Why not? You risked your safety for me.” 

“I’m older. It’s my job to protect you.”

“That’s ageist.” 

“Arya, I’m serious. If anything like this ever happens again, I want you to run. Don’t wait for me, don’t wait for Jon. Run.”

“Run where?”

“Anywhere. Get someone to put you in foster care under a new name. And if Jon or I are okay, we’ll come and find you.”

“How? You won’t know my name.” 

“Okay. How about Margaery?” 

“Your friend from school? Ew, no thank you.” 

“Okay fine. You pick.” 

“Summer Smith. After our dog.” 

Sansa laughed. “Okay. Summer Smith.” She looked at Arya hard. “You promise?” 

Arya thought about it and nodded. “I promise.” 

“Good.”

“But what if you and Jon don’t find me? What if you’re dead?” 

Sansa was quiet. “Well then I guess you’ll grow up, join the FBI, and hunt them down.” 

“So I _do_ get to kill them.” 

“Oh Arya. Go to sleep.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Too much angst? Not enough? Just right? Anything you'd like to see more or less of?   
> Please let me know. Your feedback is invaluable! And your comments keep me going.   
> -A


	9. The God's Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay; I've been dealing with the week from hell. But I suppose that fits nicely with the tone of this story thus far, so yay! Happy meta fun times!

Sandor woke them before dawn, his face already covered in old-age makeup.

“We’ve got a long drive. Make sure you pee. I don’t want to stop if we don’t have to.” 

Both girls showered and dressed, and picked at the breakfast Davos had laid out for them. They were too nervous to eat much. 

“Wrap it in a napkin,” Sandor suggested. “No point wasting it.” 

Sansa nodded and did just that, though she couldn’t imagine eating another bite until this day was over. 

“Are you ready?” Davos asked, looking from one girl to another. 

“I have to put the license plates back on the car,” Sandor groused. “I didn’t think to get new ones.” 

“I had that car towed to the junkyard yesterday,” Davos waved his hand dismissively. “Do you really think I’d let a mysterious car sit out front? It’s dangerous for both of us.”

“Well what the fuck am I supposed to do now? Take an Uber six hours away and strangle the driver so he doesn’t talk?” 

“Calm yourself,” Davos said, tossing his keys on the table. “You’ll take my car.” 

Sandor frowned. “Can’t do that. It’s your only car.” 

“I’d be a poor smuggler if I only had one means of transportation. Go on.” 

Sandor’s fingers closed around the keys. He looked up into Davos’ worn, caring face. 

“Fuck,” Sandor said, his throat tight. 

“Thank you for everything,” Sansa said. 

“Yeah, the food, and the papers, and all of it,” Arya said. 

Davos smiled and cleared his throat. “You are all most welcome.” 

Sandor and the girls grabbed their duffel bags and the first aid kit and followed Davos out the back exit to the car. Arya hugged Davos, and Sansa placed a light kiss on his cheek. They climbed into the back seat of the car as Davos and Sandor clasped hands. 

“Take care of yourself, you old bastard.” 

“I’ll miss your charm, Hound. Take care of the three of you.” 

“I aim to.” 

They gripped each other tightly for a moment, heavily aware that this would be their last time seeing one another. Sandor clapped Davos on the back and cleared his throat before climbing into the driver’s seat. 

“You girls ready?” He asked gruffly. 

“Ready,” Arya affirmed. 

And with that, Sandor backed out of the little driveway and into the streets of the city. 

The trip was mostly quiet. Neither girl could sleep, so Sansa read one of the books Davos had bought for her, and Arya nodded along to the radio as she played drums on her knees. 

Sandor gripped the steering wheel until he was white-knuckled. Only a few more hours until they were on their way out of the country. The plan was simple. God’s Eye. Brother. Littlefinger. Boat. He repeated it in his head like a mantra, the way he used to do when he was on missions. Back then it was “infiltrate, exterminate, relocate.” But the ritual still calmed him.

The song on the radio changed to some kind of heavy emo screeching ballad. 

“Jesus, they call that singing?” Sandor said, reaching over to change the station. “It sounds like a herd of dying cats.”

“I was listening to that!” Arya protested. 

“Quiet!” Sandor snapped. Both girls looked up at his change in tone. He turned up the volume on the new station. 

… _Last seen in Riverlands National Park. An Amber Alert has been issued for Arya Stark, 11, and Sansa Stark, 14. They are believed to have been abducted by Sandor Clegane, an army veteran with a history of disciplinary issues. The girls are considered to be in extreme danger. Clegane is also wanted for questioning in several murders in the Riverlands area. Anyone with information should contact the Riverlands PD tipline. A $100,000 reward has been posted for information leading to the safe return of the girls and the apprehension of Clegane._

Sandor growled and hit the steering wheel, feeling ill as the radio went on to the rest of the news broadcast. He could see the girls staring wide-eyed at him in the rearview mirror. 

“A hundred thousand dollars?” Sansa said, her voice shaking. “That has to be the Lannisters.” 

“No shit,” Sandor muttered, trying to slow his breathing. “Every Tom, Dick, and Harry will be on the lookout for us now. That’s some serious cash.” 

“Yeah, but they’ll get lots more fake tips,” Arya pointed out. Sandor glanced at her, surprised. 

“Could be,” he said. “I knew this was coming, but I didn’t think the alert would still be playing three states away.” 

“Well, I’m a boy now. And Sansa looks like Snow White. And you’re old.” Arya said. 

Sandor’s mouth curled into a small smile. “True enough.” 

Arya looked up at Sansa, who seemed deep in thought. Suddenly Sansa grinned. 

“What?” Arya asked.

“They didn’t say anything about Jon,” Sansa said. “Not that he was missing, or…injured. I bet they would have. Maybe nobody noticed he was gone.” 

“Good,” Sandor said. 

“I can’t wait to see him,” Sansa said softly, fiddling with the belt tied around her too-big jeans. A long flowered blouse covered her arms completely, and Davos’s makeup covered the bruises on her neck and face. A pair of Davos’s old sunglasses was perched atop her head, pushing her dark hair out of her face. Arya thought the new coloring made her look like she could seriously use some sun.

“We’ll be there in four hours,” Sandor said. “But I don’t want you two making a scene if there are people around.” 

“There won’t be. No one goes to the God’s Eye,” Sansa said. “It’s just a nature preserve.” 

“Oh no!” Arya yelped, scaring everyone around her. She had reached into her pocket, and pulled out Davos’s swiss army knife. “I forgot it was in here! How do I get it back to him?” 

“You don’t,” Sandor said. 

“But—“

“Don’t worry about it, girl. He won’t mind. Probably hasn’t even picked it up in years.”

“Be careful with it though,” Sansa said, frowning at the blades. “You could hurt yourself.” 

“With that little thing? Please. You could probably do more damage with your sewing needle, Little Bird.” 

“Well I don’t have a sewing needle. I have this,” Arya said. Sansa smiled.

“That has a needle too. See?” She pointed to the compass. “You do have a needle.” 

Arya smiled a little. “Think it would kill someone?” 

Sansa sat back in a huff, but Sandor could hear the real curiosity in her voice. 

“Maybe. Depends where you put it.” 

“Like where? The heart?” 

“You know where the heart is?” 

Arya nodded. 

“Well that would be a right stupid place to put it. The heart’s too deep and that blade’s only a couple inches long.” 

“Can we please change the topic?” Sansa snapped. 

“Then where?” Arya persisted, ignoring her. 

“Inside of the thigh, where it meets the groin. Best case, you hit the femoral artery. Worst case, you still make it hard for them to chase you. Plus you’re so small, it’s the only easy kill point you could reach anyway.” 

“What’s a—“ 

“Arya please!” Sansa shrieked. Arya met Sandor’s gaze in the mirror, her eyes laced with guilt. 

“Sorry,” she said, putting the knife back in her pocket. The car went quiet again, the silence broken only by a repetition of the Amber Alert on the news every half hour until Sandor turned the radio off.

They had to stop once; everyone’s bladder was full by the fourth hour in the car. They girls hurried in together, trying to keep anyone from getting too good a look at them. Sansa pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes. Arya nearly walked into the women’s room, but Sansa gave her a gentle push towards the other door. She was a boy now, so she squared her shoulders and tried not to look at the men using the urinals. She briefly wondered if her knife could cut off a penis.

Sandor made sure to come in separately from the girls. He peed quickly and bought some food at a McDonald’s stand inside the rest stop. The makeup on his face itched like hell, but even he had to admit Davos had done a bang-up job. No one gave him a second look, and people treated him like a gruff old man. If he yelled at some kids to get off his lawn, he probably could have ordered off the senior menu. 

They met back at the car, and Sandor exhaled a sigh of relief that he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. He handed the girls their food without a word, and they kept driving. 

Sansa got more and more nervous as they approached the God’s Eye. She was going to see Jon. They were going to get on a boat and leave forever. She felt a pang of loss at the thought of her home, of her family. She wouldn’t even get to go to their funerals. But she knew, with absolute certainty, that this is what they would want. They’d want her and Arya and Jon to be safe and together. And soon they would be. 

Sansa tapped her hands on her knees in a nervous rhythm, until she felt a warm hand on her own. She looked down at Arya’s questioning face. Then she took Arya’s hand and squeezed it. 

“I’m just excited to see Jon,” she said. Arya nodded. 

“Me too.” 

“I’m excited to get the fuck out of here,” Sandor said, but his disgruntled tone was gentle, and it made the girls giggle. 

“Thank you,” Sansa said suddenly. Sandor looked at her in the rearview mirror. Her sunglasses were up again, and her blue eyes were earnest. 

“Didn’t do much, little bird. You two did most of it on your own.” 

“That’s not true,” Sansa protested. “We would be dead if you hadn’t helped us.” 

Sandor looked up at the rearview mirror and took in both girls sitting in the back seat. It had only been two days, and he could barely even remember what his life had been like before they had come in a whirlwind of chaos and trouble. 

“Don’t mention it, then.” Sandor said. “I always wanted to see a yacht.” 

Sansa smiled, and Arya rolled her eyes. Sandor would be as comfortable on a yacht as a penguin would be in a desert. 

“We’re not far now,” Sandor said. “We’re making good time. Should get there at quarter of.” 

The girls nodded. Arya felt Sansa’s hand squirm into her own, and she didn’t protest. She reveled in the comfort of facing the unknown together. 

 

Sansa knew they were nearing the God’s Eye a few miles before they reached the turn off. The trees grew steadily higher as they drove, the branches reaching to astonishing heights. The birds were more plentiful; whole flocks of them took off and landed together on treetops and utility poles. The brief glimpses Sansa caught between the trees showed little flashes of blue. 

Sandor put on his blinker and turned off the road under a sign for the preserve. Everyone in the car tensed, and Sansa sat up ramrod straight as the land came into view. A small parking lot to the left was empty except for a single car. In front of them, a long stretch of grass was hemmed in by a blue lake that hit the horizon, and heavy woods to the left and right. 

“It’s beautiful,” Sansa said, awed. 

“It’s trees and dirt,” Sandor corrected, swinging into a parking spot and switching off the ignition. “Don’t go kissing all the pretty bunnies. We’ll be out of here soon enough.” 

“So…are we staying in the car for a reason?” Arya asked as she fidgeted. She was clearly itching to get out and stretch her legs. 

“That depends. Can you run away from danger faster than I can drive?” 

“Can you drive with the car turned off?” Arya shot back. 

“Stop it!” Sansa said. “What about Jon?” 

“What about him?”

“How is he going to find us? There must be a ton of entrances to this place.” 

“I told him the North entrance. Is he stupid?” 

“No.” 

“Then he’ll find us.” 

All three of them scanned the wilderness outside, looking for any sign of Jon. There was no sign of human life. Branches waved gently in the breeze, and long grass undulated like the tide. Tiny pinpricks of movement flashed as half-hidden animals hopped and flew. 

The sun beat down, quickly turning the car into an oven. Sandor rolled the windows down an inch to let cool air permeate the stifling car. 

“Maybe we should go look for him,” Sansa suggested. “Maybe he isn’t coming to find us because he knows no one is supposed to see him.” 

Sandor frowned. Surely the boy was smart enough to check the unmoving, people-filled car in the parking lot. Right? Or would he think it was a trap, and stay out of sight? 

He checked the time on his watch. Nearly 1:00pm. Forget the boy—where was this smuggler Davos had promised? The one with the stupid name? 

Sandor shifted in his seat, heavily aware of the gun pressed between his spine and his seat back, the metal wet with his sweat. If he stayed in the car with the girls, they had an easy means of escape. If he took them outside, they’d all be exposed, but together where he could protect them to some extent. If he left them alone in the car while he went to investigate, Sansa might be able to drive off if something happened. 

Sandor mentally shook his head at his own thoughts. The girl was 14. She’d probably crash the car before she’d made it 100 feet. 

Behind him, the girls were clearly getting restless. Sandor sighed. The part of his brain that had been sharpened by the Army was yelling at him to tear ass out of the parking lot with the girls before things went pear-shaped. But a smaller, more sensible part of him—a part he thought seemed suspiciously parental—questioned the wisdom of that choice. Where would he go? How would he get the girls back to their brother if they missed this chance? How would he get them out of the country without Davos’s connections? 

He’d all but resolved to start the car and head for the Mexican border, brother or no brother, when he thought he saw a person walking through the trees to their right, headed for the lake. The person looked too old to be a college-aged kid. 

“Who’s that?” Arya asked, pointing. 

_She’s got sharp eyes_ , Sandor thought, impressed in spite of himself that she’d spotted the man moving like a shadow through the woods. 

“Dunno. Could be Littlefinger. Could be someone else.” 

“Shouldn’t we go talk to him?” Sansa asked, her fingers fiddling nervously with her sunglasses. 

“In a minute. We’re gonna be smart. I want you girls to split up. Little wolf, when Sansa and I get out, I want you to hide under the car. If you get a chance, and you’re sure no one’s looking, stay low and run to the tree line over there. Pick a spot and hide. Don’t come out until I say so.” 

Sansa paled. “What’s going on? Do you think we’re in danger?”

Sandor lifted a hand as though to pat her shoulder, but thought better of it. “Better safe than sorry, that’s all.” 

Sansa nodded. “Where do you want me?” 

“You’re coming with me.” 

Both girls began to protest, but Sandor held up a hand. 

“Quiet. I’ve thought about it. You’re too tall to hide. And I need you to tell me which one is your brother. If anything happens, run into the woods and hide while I take care of it.” 

Sansa hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. Sandor leaned closer, studying her face. 

“You gonna fall apart on me? Or can you handle this?” 

Sansa squared her shoulders, tilting up her chin. A streak of pride flashed through her eyes. 

“I can handle it,” she said. 

“Good girl.” He looked from Sansa’s worried blue eyes to Arya’s steely grey ones. “Both of you.” 

With that, he grabbed the emergency duffel with his cash and hunting knives, and felt for the forged papers in his pockets. They could get the other stuff later if all went as planned, but he’d be damned if their cash and papers got stolen in a smash-and-grab. 

Sandor opened the car door and stood, taking the opportunity to stretch as he looked around. The man was almost through the trees. 

Behind him, the other car door opened and Sansa stepped out, flipping her sunglasses over her eyes. Behind her, moving like a little ninja, Arya slid onto the ground and slithered under the car. She gave Sansa a thumbs up, then slipped entirely out of sight. 

Sandor and Sansa shut the car doors and Arya watched as they made their way down to the grass just as a thin man with black hair broke through the tree line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwah ha ha. I love cliffhangers. So, who do you think it is? What do you think's going to happen next?


	10. The God's Eye: Part II

Sandor’s shoulders tensed as he approached the man. The man was good looking, with green eyes and a tidy black mustache. But there was something in his eyes, and in the smile that he gave as they approached, that set Sandor’s teeth on edge. Behind him, Sansa’s footsteps were muffled by the grass, but he felt her hand brush his arm. 

“Victor, I presume?” the man asked, and Sandor relaxed slightly. 

“Littlefinger?” 

The man nodded, and they shook hands. 

“Where’s the other girl?” 

“We left her at the motel down the road. She’s come down with a fever.” 

Littlefinger frowned, his squinty eyes suspicious. “That was foolish. We’re short on time as it is.” 

“Have you seen my brother?” Sansa asked, and Sandor turned to glare at her. She quieted at once. 

Littlefinger turned his attention to Sansa, and his eyes scanned her up and down in a way that made Sandor want to punch him in the face. Sansa shrank slightly against Sandor’s side, and he knew the man’s lechery was not lost on her. 

“I’m afraid I’ve seen no one else, sweetie. I walked the perimeter to be sure. If he’s not here soon, we will have to leave. The ship won’t wait forever.” 

“I thought it was your ship,” Sandor said, narrowing his eyes. 

“It is. But it transports more than just you, and I’m on a schedule.” 

“Just wait a bit, please. We can’t leave him here alone. He’s on his way, I know he is.” 

Littlefinger smiled. “As you wish, sweetie.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sandor saw a rustle in the tall grass far to his left. Something he couldn’t see must be running through it like a deer. Sandor had an idea what it was, and immediately pointed in the opposite direction. 

“What’s that?” 

Littlefinger and Sansa turned to look at the trees beside them as the rustle that was Arya disappeared into the far tree line. 

_Forget basic training,_ Sandor thought. _That girl’s going directly to ranger._

“I don’t see anything,” Sansa said, straining for a glimpse of her brother. 

The loud snap of a twig turned everyone’s attention to the woods on their right. Sandor placed a hand on his gun. 

“Just an animal, most like,” Littlefinger said. “Wait here.” He disappeared back into the woods. 

The God’s Eye quieted into the shushing of the grass, the rubbing of leaves, the lapping of small waves. Sandor sniffed the air. Sansa pushed up her sunglasses and gazed up at him. 

“What is it?” 

“I don’t like this,” Sandor admitted. “I don’t trust the weaselly bastard.” 

“He’s Davos’s friend, isn’t he?” 

Sandor nodded. 

“Then he must be okay,” Sansa said with a tone of finality. Sandor almost laughed at her naïveté. How could a girl who’d been through so much still be so damned innocent? 

Footsteps drew their attention, and Sandor pulled his gun from his waist. Sansa gasped before Sandor even registered what he was seeing. 

Littlefinger was pushing a bound and gagged young man before him, holding him with one arm around his chest as he pressed a knife to the man’s throat. Sandor didn’t need to hear Sansa’s quiet sobs or see the long black curls to know that this was the girls’ brother. 

“Let him go!” Sansa said, stepping towards Jon. Sandor grabbed her shoulder with his free hand. 

“Run,” he hissed. “In the trees. Now.” 

Sansa shook her head, crying as she struggled to get to her brother. His brown eyes were wide above his gag, and he shook his head at Sansa as well as he could with the knife at his throat. 

“Let the boy go,” Sandor said, aiming his gun at Littlefinger’s head. “Or I will drop you where you stand.” 

“I don’t think so,” Littlefinger smiled. He let out a long whistle, and men in black suits emerged from all around them, melting out of the tree line, their guns pointed directly at Sandor and Sansa. 

“Why?” Sansa gasped, tears running down her face. 

“I’ve been in business with the Lannisters for years. I saw no reason to tell your friend Davos. But the reward I will get for bringing you in…” he licked his lips. “Well, that’s just a little too good to pass up.” 

Sandor cursed himself to the seven hells and back for trusting like a blind fool. He cocked his gun, desperately aware of the men closing in. 

“Sansa, run,” he hissed again. 

“No Sansa, don’t.” Littlefinger said, digging his knife into Jon’s neck and drawing blood. 

Before Sandor could move, Sansa threw herself at Littlefinger, latching onto the arm holding the knife. Her weight dragged the knife away from Jon’s throat, and Jon immediately whipped his head back into Littlefinger’s, breaking his nose with a satisfying crunch. Littlefinger cursed and slashed out with his knife, clutching his nose with his free hand. Sandor grabbed Jon and Sansa and shoved them behind him. Littlefinger’s eyes widened just as Sandor fired a bullet into his skull. 

The loud crack reverberated like thunder through the clearing, and suddenly a dozen men were on them, ripping the gun from Sandor, beating Jon, grabbing at Sansa as she tried to dash for the trees. Sandor roared and smashed two of the men’s skulls together, breaking both with a sickening crunch. He broke a third man’s neck, but more kept coming. Jon no longer moved, and two men were carrying Sansa away as she shrieked and clawed. Sandor lunged for them, but a taser hit him in the ribs, and he sank to the ground, the world tilting as the little bird was carried away, calling his name until he saw no more. 

 

The first muffled shouts nearly made Arya fall out of the tree she was climbing. She clung on by her fingertips, her bad shoulder screaming, and swung her leg until it touched the branch below her. She was too far into the woods to see what was happening, but sound carried to where she was. She climbed down branch by branch, heart pounding as her hands grabbed the rough bark. 

The crack of the gunshot startled her, and she fell the last few feet, landing hard on her butt. She got to her feet and ran from tree to tree until she could see through the foliage. 

Arya’s blood ran cold as she saw Sansa being hauled away by men with large muscles and guns at their waists. Sansa clawed and scratched, drawing blood, but the men were too strong. Finally one of them brought out a small thing that Arya didn’t recognize, and brought it to Sansa’s side. She jerked, then stopped moving. Tears slid down Arya’s face as her sister was carried past, her limp body unresisting as the men carried her to the road where a van was pulling up. The door opened from the inside, and more men pulled Sansa in. 

A groan drew Arya’s attention across the grass. Sandor was lying motionless on the ground, and more men were tying him up. Next to him…

Arya crouched down, ready to sprint across to where Jon was lying prone and bloody on the grass. Just as she was about to move, more men crossed in front of her view, mere feet away from where she was concealed behind some bushes.

“Where’s the other Stark bitch?” one of them asked. “We’re supposed to bring in the both of them.” 

“I heard the giant say he left her at the hotel.” 

“Dumbass. I don’t suppose he said which hotel?” 

“Nah. But she can’t be hard to find. Kid on her own like that.” 

“Well, check the car they came in. And the brother’s car too. Can’t be too careful. We’ll come back with the dogs if she’s not at the inns down the way.” 

They moved farther off, and Arya let out her breath. She raised herself just high enough to see over the bushes. Sandor was being dragged across the grass by his arms, and two other men were carrying Jon between them. Arya bit her lip until it bled, desperate to run out and help them, but she could hear Sansa’s words in her head. 

_Don’t you_ ever _endanger yourself for me or Jon._

_She can’t expect me to live like this though,_ Arya thought. _She can’t expect me to be the only one left._ Tears rolled down Arya’s face as Sandor was thrown into the van after Sansa. Arya expected Jon to follow, but instead the men put him in the trunk of the car that had been in the parking lot when they got here. 

“He dead?” She heard one man call to another, and her heart clenched. 

“Will be soon. Hot as blazes out here,” someone replied. “Boss only wants the girls and the giant.”

Arya’s mind was racing as fast as her heart. There were armed men converging on the van, and more disappearing down the path that lead to the other side of the lake. Two men hefted Littlefinger’s broken body into the air and threw it into the water. 

The van pulled out of the parking lot, carrying Sandor and Sansa with it. Before long a second van came and collected the remaining men. Arya waited for several minutes, each one making her more and more tense. Where was the van now? What was happening to her sister? She prayed that Sandor would wake up and kill them all. 

At last all seemed quiet. Arya saw a rabbit emerge from the woods, and figured it must be a sign that all humans were gone. She reached into her pocket and pulled out Needle, flipping it open to the longest blade. She ran hunched over through the tall grass, grateful for its height. It must be how the men had missed her earlier, when she’d ran from the parking lot to the trees. 

When she reached the asphalt, Arya dropped to a crouch and looked around. There were no people that she could see. She knew that Sandor would yell at her to run away, that Sansa might tell her not to risk it, but she couldn’t leave Jon if there was any chance he was still alive. She sprinted to the car and tried to open the trunk. 

It was locked. The sun-baked metal was scorching against her fingers. 

Desperate, Arya looked around and grabbed a rock lying nearby. With all her strength and a whispered prayer that no one was around to hear her, she heaved the rock through the driver’s side window. 

The glass shattered, and Arya used the butt end of Needle to widen the hole. She reached her hand in and pressed the trunk button. 

This time, when she tried the trunk it opened. Arya nearly cried with relief when she saw Jon’s brown eyes looking up at her, squinting into the sunlight over his gag. 

With no time to spare, Arya cut through his bonds and pulled off his gag. Jon coughed, gasping for air that wasn’t overheated. 

“Arya?” He asked, struggling to get out of the car. Arya grabbed his arm and helped him stand. Jon hugged her fiercely, then doubled over, spitting blood out of his mouth. 

“You have to go,” Jon said, wrapping an arm around his stomach and leaning heavily against the car. Arya closed the trunk, and kicked the broken glass on the ground out of sight. 

“I’m not leaving you. They’re coming back. I heard them.”

Jon put a hand on her shoulder, his brown eyes looking deep into her grey ones. 

“You have to run. They need help. We have to get the police.” 

“No! The Lannisters have people everywhere. Sansa said—“

“Arya!” He grabbed her shoulders and looked at her through swelling black eyes. “Everything’s changed. I won’t make it out of here. You have to go get help. If you don’t, we’re all dead.” 

“I can’t leave you here.” 

“Arya—“

“No! At least hide in the trees.” 

Jon hung his head and finally nodded.

“Do you have the keys?” Arya asked, looking back at the trunk. He fished his car keys out of his back pocket and held them up. Arya grabbed them and pressed the lock button and the car alarm button. Then she pocketed the keys. 

Jon leaned heavily on Arya as they made their way through the grass. Arya half-dragged him a few yards into the woods, and left him in a dense cluster of bushes. 

“Here,” she said, holding out Needle. Jon shook his head, and closed her hand around it. 

“You might need it. Now go. Run as fast as you can. Don’t worry about me. Just tell them what happened to Sansa.” He pulled Arya down so that she knelt beside him, and hugged her as tightly as he could, wincing through the pain in his ribs. 

“I love you more than anything,” he said, his voice breaking. 

“I love you too,” Arya said, her voice thick. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.” 

“I’m not alone,” John tried to smile up at her. “I’ve got you looking out for me. Send the police back for me when you can.” 

Arya nodded and backed slowly away, drinking in one last sight of Jon, bruised, bloody, but wonderfully alive. Then she turned and ran. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :hides: please don't hate me! No one ever said this story was an easy read...  
> Please leave your lovely reviews and comments below. They really help my moments of severe writer's-self-doubt. (It's a thing.) Constructive criticism always appreciated too!


	11. Cave Canem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments! Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!

Sansa was cold. She stretched out her hands, groping for the blanket that must have fallen off, but her wrists hurt and her fingers met only cold cement. She wasn’t on a bed at all—she was lying on the floor. Judging by the pain in her hip, she’d been lying there for a while. 

She opened her eyes and blinked until the ceiling came into view. It too looked like cement, with florescent lights so bright that they made her eyes tear and her head hurt. Sansa tried to sit up, but her hands were tied in front of her. She wriggled and pushed until she was upright.

_What happened_? She ran through her memory, but nothing was forthcoming. The last thing she remembered was being in the car with Arya and Sandor. 

Sansa shifted and a cold dragging sound sent chills up her spine as something scraped across the floor. She looked down and saw a long, coiled chain connecting her ankle to the wall. Her mind flashed back to the campsite, her ankle chained to the stake in the ground—

Sansa began to hyperventilate as she looked wildly around. The room looked like a basement with its unfinished walls and floor. There were no windows, and the only door was at the top of a wooden staircase on the right side of the room. A sink and toilet were affixed to the wall, and a large table in the center of the room was located above a drain in the floor. Sansa’s skin crawled when she saw the empty restraints hanging from the table, the straps dangling as though waiting to reach out and snap up the first person who came close. 

A huff of air caught her attention, and she whirled around. Sandor was lying on the ground, his hands and feet bound, his ankle chained to the wall like hers. His eyes were closed, but she could hear him breathing. 

“Sandor!” Sansa stumbled over to him, her extra chain sliding behind her, and shook his shoulder hesitantly. He groaned, so she did it again. 

“Sandor! Wake up! _Please_!” Tears began to slide down her face, and several of them landed on his. That seemed to wake him up more than anything. His face twitched, and he opened his eyes, hissing at the bright light. 

“Sansa?” He asked, sounding confused. “What—where?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa said, tears still slipping down her face, even as she tried to gulp them back. “I think—they found us. The Lannisters.” 

Some of the fog seemed to clear from Sandor’s brain. He struggled to sit up, and Sansa helped as best she could. Sandor looked around. 

“Fuck,” he muttered when he saw the table. “Fuck!” He began to tear at the rope around his wrists, hissing as it dug into his flesh and left raw, bloody marks. Sansa looked down at her own wrists. They too were bound with rope, and bloody from the friction, but the knots in her ropes looked much simpler. 

“Wait,” she said to Sandor. “Do mine.” She held her wrists out to him, and he made short work of her knots. She hissed as the rope came loose, exposing her raw rope burns to the open air. She ignored the pain as she knelt beside him, using her long fingernails to pick at the knots around his wrists. It took much longer, but eventually his hands were free as well. He started on the ropes binding his ankles.

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Sandor demanded, his gaze flitting from her wrists to her legs to her face. 

“I don’t think so,” Sansa said hesitantly. “I don’t—I don’t remember much.” 

“Me either,” Sandor said. “Bastards either drugged us or tasered us. You got any burns or needle marks?” 

Sansa hesitated, then pulled up the side of her shirt to expose a sore spot that had been bothering her since she woke. She twisted to try to see it, but could only make out a red mark. 

“That’s a taser burn.” He pulled out the final knot and held up the rope that had bound his ankles. It was a good length, sturdy. He tucked it into his pants pocket. The Lannister idiots ought to know better. 

“Where’s Arya?” Sansa asked. Sandor frowned. 

“I don’t know.” 

Sansa paled. “Do you think they have her? Are they keeping her somewhere else?” 

“Can’t see why they would. They left us together.” 

Sansa nodded, relaxing a little. If Arya wasn’t here, it was probably good news. Unless…

Sansa pushed away the thought of her little sister lying still somewhere, her eyes closed, her chest no longer rising and falling. Arya was stronger than anyone she knew. She would survive. 

“What do you think they want?” Sansa asked, her voice small. 

“Well they didn’t invite us to a fucking tea party,” Sandor snapped. Sansa took a step back. 

“I know. I know they want me dead. But why haven’t they killed me yet?” 

Sandor shot a glance at the table in the center of the room. He’d seen enough torture in his time to know that this table meant nothing good for either of them. Still, he wasn’t about to tell Sansa that. First of all, she wasn’t stupid. Second of all, there was no way she could handle hearing the answer out loud. She was clearly hoping he would talk her out of it. That he would tell her she was going to be fine. 

Sandor clamped his mouth shut. He couldn’t lie to the girl. But he wouldn’t tell her the whole truth either. 

“I won’t let them hurt you if I can help it,” he told her.

“Promise?” She asked, her voice soft. She shivered and hugged herself for warmth. 

“I’ll never lie to you, girl.” 

Sansa nodded, seeming to accept that. She took several steps across the room, trailing her chain behind her. She could reach everything—the toilet, the sink, even the table, though she avoided touching it. The chain pulled taut just before she reached the bottom of the stairs. 

A scraping, rattling sound on the other side of the room caught her attention. Sandor had taken his chain in both of his hands and was attempting to rip the metal hook out of the wall. Sandor’s muscles bulged with the effort, and his face—washed clean of old-age makeup, Sansa noticed for the first time—was red, a vein bulging in his forehead. He let go, panting, then tried again. Sansa couldn’t help noticing that his chain was much shorter than hers. 

“Stop that,” Sansa said, putting her hands on his and trying to wrest them away from the chain. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

“You’ve got a better idea, little bird?”

Sansa felt through her empty pockets, and looked around the room for anything they could use. But the room was spartan.

Sandor resumed his efforts, but Sansa stepped backwards until she leaned against the wall, then slowly slid to the floor. She put her arms around her shins and her head on her knees, creating a small cocoon of comfort and relative warmth. Sandor’s curses and the rattle of chains rang in the background, and Sansa let out a quiet sob. The sobs came faster and faster, until she was crying her heart out on the cold cement floor. They were never getting out of here. 

 

 

By the time the van pulled back into the God’s Eye lot, Jon was nearly asleep. He kept nodding off, only to jerk awake at the whine of a fly or the rustle of leaves. It wasn’t until he heard the barking of dogs, and the unmistakable shouting of men’s voices, that he fully awoke. 

Torn between trying to see what was happening, and trying to hide more completely, Jon found he was able to do neither. Movement made his ribs seize with pain, and he fell back, stifling a groan. For better or worse, this was where he was staying, surrounded by a thin camoflauge of bushes and grass. 

“Oy! The window’s broken,” someone yelled, and Jon flinched. 

“Probably broken before,” someone else said. Jon had to strain to hear them. “Just help me push the car in the lake and let’s go.” 

Jon bit his lip, digging his teeth hard into the soft flesh as he prayed that they wouldn’t check the trunk. 

“Give him another look. Make sure he’s good and rotting.”

“What does it matter? He’ll be swimming soon enough. The trunk’s still locked. And Scott took the crowbar in the van, so unless you want to open it yourself…”

The car alarm that Arya had set went off, blaring across the quiet of the God’s Eye. 

“Shit! Shut that shit up before someone hears!”

Jon heard the grunts of the men and the slow rumble of wheels as the car passed, the alarm loud enough to be heard from space. A minute later there was an almighty splash as the car entered the lake. Jon’s body went cold under the layer of sweat that plastered him from head to toe. He should be in there, his lungs filling with water as the car dragged him to the bottom of the lake. If not for his little sister, he would be dead right now. 

“Too fucking hot for this shit!” Someone said, so close to Jon that he almost jumped. 

“Quit your whining. Let’s find the girl.” 

“Stupid. She’s probably at another hotel. We’ll find her when they call the cops.” 

“The boss says to use the dogs, we use the dogs. You got her scent?” 

Jon couldn’t hear a response. He paled, hoping desperately that Arya would find her way out of this forest before anyone could reach her. He wished a plague upon the dogs, that they would forget how to smell, and a painful death on the cowardly men who would hunt his baby sister like an animal. 

“Got it!” Someone said, and a murmur of excitement ran through the men. Jon stayed as still as possible as the rustling grew closer. He held his breath, remembering that Arya had helped him to this spot—that he probably still smelled like her. Feet away, he could see a dog sniffing at the bushes where he hid. Its head broke through and the dog eyed Jon, its teeth pulled back in a low growl. 

“Wait! I got another one here, heading to the parking lot!” someone shouted, and the dog was tugged away. Jon let out his breath, his head buzzing. He listened to the men as they agreed to split up, one group moving further into the woods, the other going to check surveillance tapes to make sure no one had picked Arya up. The voices and barking of the dogs grew fainter until it disappeared entirely. Jon laid his head back on the ground, and looked up at the green canopy above him. 

_Run, Arya_ , he thought. _Run, and don’t ever stop._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think will happen next?


	12. Manners

The light was fading fast. Every breath ripped from Arya’s lungs as she ran through the woods, chasing the dying sun where it had disappeared behind the trees. She couldn’t remember how big the God’s Eye was. Ten acres? A hundred? A thousand? 

A jolt went from her foot to her hip as she caught her shoe on a tree root that was hiding in the growing shadows. Arya stumbled but kept her balance, continuing to jog through the forest, every pounding step rustling leaves and sending wildlife into hiding. 

Sweat trickled down Arya’s brow and into her eyes, making them sting. She wiped her face with her sleeve. She refused to cry; not at the thought of Jon, alone and maybe dying in the bushes, nor Sandor, carried away to an unknown fate. Her resolve almost broke at the thought of Sansa back in the clutches of the Lannisters, but Arya knew that tears were for children or weaklings, and she didn’t have time to be either. Not if she was going to save the people who mattered.

Her foot caught on another root, and this time Arya fell to the ground. She knelt there, staring up into the leafy canopy overhead, trying to catch her breath. Her mouth was so dry she doubted she could make a spitball if her life depended on it. She cursed herself a hundred times for not grabbing water bottles from Sandor’s car—if not for her, then for Jon at least. But she hadn’t thought of it, and now it was too late. The lake was back where Jon was, and she hadn’t seen so much as a puddle in the woods since she began to run. 

Arya pushed herself up, one arm and leg at a time, then began to run again. She had no food, no water, no blankets, no map. It would be dark soon. She’d have to slow down then. And she knew better than anyone that slow prey wound up in someone else’s kitchen.

 

Sandor nursed his swollen, reddened hands, the skin still imprinted with chain marks. He had long since given up on pulling the chain loose from the wall. He’d spent several minutes examining the mechanism on Sansa’s ankle, too. The fucking Lannisters had spared no expense when it came to keeping their prisoners imprisoned. 

Sansa lay in the far corner, shivering in her sleep, her arms pulled inside her shirt for warmth. Her lips were tinged with blue—the temperature was still falling. He wondered if the Lannisters were continuously lowering the thermostat, or if the room was sensitive enough that the drop in the air was from night approaching outside. He doubted it.

Briefly Sandor considered taking off his shirt and draping it over the girl, but she might be even more frightened to wake up with a half-naked man in the same room. Besides, he needed to be ready and aware. The rope was burning a hole in his pocket. If he had half a chance, he’d strangle every man who came near him. He couldn’t do that if his hands were shaking from the fucking cold. 

As though he’d willed it, the door at the top of the stairs opened and three Lannister men came in. A fourth person came in with them, so bundled up that half their face was covered. Sandor was on his feet immediately, and the rattle of chains woke Sansa. She sat up, then froze on the ground, staring as the men walked down the stairs. Sandor stepped between Sansa and the men, moving towards them until his chain pulled him to a standstill several feet from where they stood.

“Isn’t that sweet,” the mystery person said, unwinding the wrap from her face. Sandor growled low in his throat as the blond hair and strong jaw of Cersei Lannister appeared in the room. She was exactly as she looked in the pictures he’d seen in the newspaper—ice cold and regal. The frosty air in the room seemed to emanate from her very presence. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Sandor barked. Cersei smiled. 

“In due time. First, I want to see what I paid for.” Cersei beckoned to Sansa, who skittered back on her hands and feet and pressed herself against the wall.

“Come, come, little dove. That’s no way to greet your hostess,” Cersei said, her eyes flashing with amusement. She held out a hand to Sansa, taking care to stay behind the man with the gun. Sandor gritted his teeth in frustration. If she’d just take a few steps forward, he could reach out and snap the bitch’s neck. 

“I’ve asked very nicely, you know. It appears you’ve forgotten your manners. Maybe we should remind you. Meryn, show Miss Stark what happens when guests forget to be polite.” 

A tall, thick man with a close dark beard and a gleam in his eye stepped forward. 

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Sandor snarled. 

Cersei flicked her hand dismissively. “Blount, shut him up.” 

Another man pulled a gun from his belt, and Sansa gasped. 

“No! No, I’ll be good. I promise.” She stood up and stepped out from behind Sandor, who realized a moment too late. His hand grabbed for her but touched only empty air. 

Sansa approached Cersei and Meryn, her head down, her red hair spilling over her shoulders. 

“I’m sorry I forgot my manners, Mrs. Lannister. Sandor and I are grateful for your hospitality.” 

Cersei chuckled, then laughed outright. “What pretty words you chirp, little dove,” she said, grasping Sansa’s chin in her cold fingers. Cersei used a fingernail to scrape away some of the makeup on Sansa’s face. A thin line of bruising shone through. 

“My, aren’t you a pretty one. No wonder my son is so enamored of you.” 

Sansa stiffened. 

“Speaking of Joffrey,” Cersei said, pressing a bit harder with her nail as she scraped away more makeup, “he’s suffered a bit of an injury. A bullet wound to the ankle. Do you know anything about that, Sansa?” 

Sansa swallowed. “No, Mrs. Lannister. I never saw Joffrey come to harm.” It was true, but Cersei was not fooled by Sansa’s careful phrasing. Her fingers tightened on Sansa’s chin. 

“Meryn, teach Ms. Stark what happens when she lies to her betters.” 

The man stepped forward, and before Sansa or Sandor could react, Meryn had buried his fist in the girl’s side, expelling the air from her lungs and making her double over in pain. 

“You cocksucking son of a bitch!” Sandor yelled as he lunged at Meryn. A wrenching pain in his ankle kept him from reaching the Lannister man. Meryn smirked at him, then punched Sansa in the face. She fell, covering her eye with her hand. Sandor wanted to rip his own leg off so he could close the three-foot gap and kill the man so smugly beating a child a third his size and age. 

Cersei held up a hand, and Meryn stepped back.“I think our point has been made. Hasn’t it, Sansa?” 

Still holding a hand over her face, Sansa nodded from the floor. Sandor realized that she hadn’t made a sound the entire time she was being beaten. The thought sent ice up and down his spine. She was reacting like some child prisoner of war. 

“Excellent,” Cersei said. “Now that that’s covered, we have a few more questions to ask you.”

“No,” Sandor said. “Me.” 

Cersei sighed. “I’m growing tired of your heroics.” 

“The girl doesn’t know jack shit. You want answers? You ask me.” 

Cersei considered this. 

“Fine. Get on the table.” 

Sandor cast a glance at Sansa, who finally looked up. Her left eye was rapidly swelling. Her right eye was full of fear. Fear for _him_ , he realized with a jolt. Of all the things that were happening, she was most afraid for him. 

But what about her? If they immobilized him on the table, he’d have no chance of protecting the little bird if they went after her. Still, with his short leash, it’s not like he’d done a great job of protecting her so far. More than likely, they were both in for a world of pain. He just had to hope he could stall long enough that help would arrive or the Lannisters would make a careless mistake. 

Sandor climbed on the table. 

Cersei motioned to the men. One of them held his gun on Sandor’s forehead while the others secured the straps. Sansa sat in the corner, her eyes studying the floor. 

“Oh no, little dove. You have to watch. After all, he’s making a noble sacrifice for you. You wouldn’t want him to think you’re ungrateful, would you?” 

“Bugger that!” Sandor said, and Meryn punched him in the mouth. Sandor felt one of his molars come loose. The bastard could punch like a freight train. Sandor had even more respect for Sansa, whose eyes—eye—was now steadily trained on him. 

“Good. Let’s proceed.” Cersei walked over so she was standing above Sandor. His fists twitched in the restraints. 

Cersei’s voice turned icy. “Where is Arya Stark?”


	13. Option E)

_Just. A Little. Further._ Arya’s legs gave out and she fell to one knee, scraping her skin open on the twigs in the dirt. She pushed herself up and took another step, only to collapse completely. Every muscle in her legs screamed with pain; every part of her body felt weak from exhaustion. She licked her lips, trying get some relief, but she’d sweat out every ounce of extra liquid in her body. Her face itched desperately from the midges that had attacked at sunset, drawn to the sweat on her face. Night was thick around her now, and only filtered bits of moonlight showed the faint outlines of trees. Crickets chirped all around, and she felt the brush of thick flies as they fluttered past her head, though she couldn’t see them.

_At least Jon has the lake_ , she thought to herself. _If he can drag himself to the edge, he won’t die of dehydration._

The thought gave her some comfort, even though she knew he could die from about a hundred other things before she could get help. If she could get help. 

She huffed a laugh to herself as her breathing slowed. It felt like she was on a reality show. Or a quiz show. _What Do You Do When You’re On the Run and Dying?!_ Do you A) Sleep and let yourself get more dehydrated B) Keep moving even though you can’t see three feet in front of you or C) Try to retrace your steps and make your way back to the lake and possibly the people who want to kill you like some Hunger Games bullshit? 

Was there a D)? There was always a D) on quiz shows. Maybe D) was the right answer and Arya would die because she didn’t know it. 

_Okay,_ she thought. D) _Split the difference. Sleep for a couple hours. Get moving at dawn. Hope I don’t die in my sleep or get eaten by animals._

Arya pushed herself to her feet and took a few slow steps, trying hard not to think about how much it looked like the night she and Sansa had escaped from Joffrey and Ramsay. She tried to close her mind to the thoughts, not to wonder what was happening to Sansa, or Jon, or Sandor, but she couldn’t forget the memories of that night. She could practically feel the rain on her skin, the ache in her legs, the distant baying of dogs—

Arya froze and listened hard. A light pellet of moisture hit her and crawled down her neck, followed by another, and another. And in the distance…

Adrenaline surged through Arya and she took off, sprinting like an Olympic runner, hurdling over tree roots and bushes, looking wildly around for a place to hide. The sprinkling rain fell harder, and she held out her hands to catch some in the cup of her palms. She slurped it down, trying not to gag on the dirt and mud from her skin that mingled with the clear drops. 

A hound barked, and the sound was so loud that it startled Arya. There was nowhere to hide; no big piles of rocks, no water, no easily climbable trees.

She ran on and on, her heart racing, her throat and mouth dry, her stomach churning with desperation. A hound bayed again, so close that Arya’s heart leapt into her throat. In desperation, she took a running leap and grabbed onto a high branch, her hands burning as the skin rubbed off, her bad shoulder screaming, her stomach muscles clenching as she gritted her teeth and pulled her legs up. Once she could stand on the branch she reached up, feeling in the dark for the next, and climbed, higher and higher, until the branches were so thin that she was afraid they couldn’t bear even her slight weight. She stayed in the little groove where the branch met the tree, hugging the trunk to keep her balance. The rain was pouring now, filtering through the thick canopy, and even in her terror Arya opened her mouth to catch what she could. She looked closely through the leaves above, below, and around her, trying to duck out of sight of any gaps.Barely a minute later, she saw flickers of light between the trees, little circles reflecting off of leaves and trunks around the forest as flashlights swiveled from side to side. 

The baying of a hound came loud and long, so close that Arya broke into a sweat, her dark eyes widening with fear. A moment later, a hound was circling the base of her tree, scratching at the trunk. 

“Whadya find, boy?” Someone asked. Through the leaves, Arya could see two men circling the tree, looking up through the branches. 

“I don’t see nothing” another man said. “Maybe he saw a squirrel.” 

“Go check it out,” the first man said. 

“I’m not climbing a fucking tree. No way either of our fat asses is getting up there.” 

“Speak for yourself. I’m all muscle,” the first guy said.

“Tree don’t care,” the second guy muttered as his friend hoisted himself onto a branch that Arya couldn’t see from her position. She slid a hand into her pocket and fingered Needle’s handle. If she had to, she’d cut his throat. She’d cut both their fucking throats. And the dog’s too. 

A loud snap and a huge crash made her jump slightly. There was a lot of cursing and a loud peal of laughter. 

“I told ya your fat ass wasn’t getting up no tree!” 

“Shut the fuck up. I slipped. It’s wet.”

“You broke the fucking branch!”

“Quit wastin’ time. There’s no girl up there. Dog’s probably going loopy chasing a squirrel. Let’s knock off.” 

“Fine by me. Fool’s errand anyway. I bet that girl’s still in a hotel somewhere. Let’s go get some food. I’m starving.” 

“No food back at the factory. What’s around here?” 

“Beats me. We’re in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. My cell phone ain’t even working.” 

“Well, map says there’s a highway exit in a mile or two. Must be food there.”

“Two miles? Can’t we just cut over to the right? Gift shop is in the clearing. Bet there’s a cafe.” 

“It’s 2 a.m. you idiot. Cafe’s closed. Come on. Maybe if you took a few more two-mile walks, you'd be able to get your fat ass in a tree.” 

The men moved off, hushing the dog as it began barking and straining to go back towards Arya. Arya let out a shaky breath, and stayed still despite the trembling in her muscles. She couldn’t afford to break a branch when they were still in hearing distance, but the knowledge that she might be so close to civilization made her want to jump out of the tree and sprint to the clearing. She wished she could get to the highway, but she wasn’t stupid enough to follow the men and their dog. 

She sang every song she knew in her head, then sang them again. When she was sure at least an hour or two had passed, she carefully eased herself out of the tree, branch by branch, until she reached the bottom one. It was still a ways down, but she had no choice. She hung by her hands—then dropped. 

A burst of pain exploded in Arya’s ankle, and she fell onto her side, biting her lip to keep from cursing. _Stupid!_ she thought. She struggled to her feet and tentatively took a step. It hurt like hell, but it held her weight. Slowly, one step at a time, Arya turned to the right and began to make her way through the woods. Rain dripped steadily through the trees, soaking her hair and clothes. Each step made her teeth grit and her eyes tear. 

“Jon. Sansa. Sandor,” she whispered to herself, taking one step for each name. “Jon. Sansa. Sandor.” She thought her list over and over again, putting one foot in front of the other as the sky began to lighten to a steel grey. “Jon. Sansa. Sandor.” She put her foot down, and nearly slipped on the loose, muddy earth. Arya looked up. She was outside the tree line, and the rain had fallen heavily here, leaving the ground soft. She stood at the edge of a large grassy clearing. A road led to an empty parking lot. Three wooden buildings stood on the grass. One said “Cafe.” One said “Gift Shop/Information.” The third building didn’t have a sign. Arya took a deep breath and looked around. There were no sounds except for the dripping of water and the various birdsongs that were announcing the dawn. Arya shivered in her wet T-shirt. 

“Jon. Sansa. Sandor,” she told herself, picking her way over the muddy grass to the third building. 

She was only a few feet away from the third building when something moved in the corner of her eye. A man in black was rising from the bushes. 

A few feet away, another man in black was emerging from behind the trees. 

Arya’s breath caught in her chest. She looked around, and spied a potted plant with a bunch of decorative rocks the size of her fist. She lunged for it, grabbing a handful of rocks, and threw one of the rocks through the window of the unmarked building with the loud tinkle of shattering glass. Then she heaved one through the window of the nearby gift shop. 

“Grab her!” She heard someone yell, as she heaved a third rock farther away, through the window of the cafe. 

Strong arms grabbed her around the middle, wresting her last rock from her hand. Arya hit and bit and kicked any part she could reach, trying desperately to grab Needle from her pocket, but her hands were securely held behind her. 

The sound of a car approaching filled Arya with dread, but the men holding her turned, distracted. Arya used the opportunity to bite the arm closest to her mouth. 

“Ow! Fucking rabid bitch!” The arm backhanded Arya, leaving a bruising pain across her cheek. 

“Come on! This isn’t one of ours! Bring the kid and let’s go!”

Arya screamed, willing the mystery person in the car to hear her. Someone made the mistake of covering her mouth, so she bit his hand too. He didn’t let go; suddenly she was being rocked back and forth as the two men began to run. 

“Freeze!” She heard behind her, and her heart momentarily swelled with hope. Arya felt herself falling through the air and hit the ground hard on her back. The men who had been holding her reached behind them for the guns in their waistbands. Without even thinking, Arya grabbed the nearest man around the ankles. He toppled forward and was forced to use his hands to break his fall. She snatched the gun out of his waistband and aimed it at the man still pointing his gun at the officer. 

“Freeze, asshole,” Arya said. The man briefly looked down, then did a double take when he saw the gun pointed at his crotch. Arya struggled to keep both men in her line of sight. She badly wanted to pull the trigger, but these were Lannister men. They might know where Sansa was. 

A tall, tall shadow fell over Arya, and she turned her gun to face the new threat. It was the tallest woman she’d ever seen, dressed in a park ranger’s uniform. The woman was holding her gun on the men, but looking at Arya. 

“It’s alright, son. I appreciate the help, but I can take it from here,” she said, smiling a little. “How’s about you hand me that gun?” 

Arya lowered the gun, but didn’t hand it over. 

“I will when they’re in cuffs,” she told the ranger. To her surprise, the ranger’s smile widened. 

“Fair enough. Podrick!” 

Arya turned to see a young, round-faced boy who didn’t look that much older than Sansa. 

“I’m Brienne. Podrick’s my trainee,” the woman said. “I’m going to have to ask that you don’t shoot him.” 

Arya nodded. Together, Brienne and Podrick handcuffed the men and put them in the back of their car. Then Brienne reached out her hand for the gun. Arya hesitated, reluctant to hand over her only real protection. But if Brienne and Podrick were Lannister people, they wouldn’t have interfered in her kidnapping. And she still had Needle. Arya let the gun rest in the lady’s hand. 

“Thank you. First things first. Are you alright? Did these men hurt you?” 

Arya didn’t know how to answer that, so she just didn’t answer. Brienne frowned. 

“Can you tell me your name?” 

Arya opened her mouth, but wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. Who was she now? Aaron? Summer? Arya? She remembered Sansa’s words about endangering herself for Sansa and Jon, but Arya knew she would risk everything to get them back safely.

“I’m Arya Stark of Winterfell,” she said at last. Brienne’s eyes widened. “And I need your help.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review, comment, like, hate, yell, yodel, whatever in the comments below. And thank you for following me this far on the journey!


	14. The Short Con and the Long Con

A bucket of cold water brought Sandor back to consciousness. 

“This is boring,” a voice whined. Sandor glanced to his left to see the blond snot-nosed teenager who’d come to his house hunting the girls. The boy was resting on crutches while he pouted at his mother. 

“I told you, mama has to work, lovey,” Cersei simpered. With a start, Sandor realized that this boy was Joffrey. His mind flashed back to the “J” carved into Sansa’s shoulder. He immediately looked for Sansa, and let out a relieved breath when he saw her still in the corner, eyes closed, with no visibly new injuries. 

The thought brought his attention back to his own pain, and he grit his teeth as it flared to life with a vengeance. Cersei had been keen to remind Sandor that he had shot her son in the ankle. The last thing Sandor remembered was Cersei ordering Meryn to take a drill to his. 

“He’s awake,” Blount called. Cersei smiled at Joffrey, who grinned back. 

“Excellent. Where were we?” Cersei feigned forgetfulness. Sandor rolled his eyes. 

“That’s right. The Stark girl.” 

“Stark bitch, more like,” Joffrey muttered. 

“Stark bitch has more balls than you do, baby raper,” Sandor spat. “One of these days I’m gonna cut those balls right off you.” 

Joffrey went pale. He looked at his mother, as though needing reassurance. Cersei’s mouth was drawn. 

“The desperate words of a doomed man, darling. Take no notice,” she told her son. 

“You proud to have this piece of shit as your son? Hunting kids? Killing families? Raping little girls?” 

Sandor thought he detected the slightest flinch on Cersei’s face at the last part, but then she smiled so widely he thought he must be mistaken. 

“Joffrey.”

The boy immediately picked up a knife from the table and cut a long, shallow slash in Sandor’s stomach. Sandor grunted, but he glared daggers at Joffrey without saying a word. 

“Where. Is. The Stark girl?” Cersei snarled, coming over to put her face to his. 

“No. Fuckin. Idea!” Sandor growled back. Joffrey cut him again, deeper this time, and he felt the blood trickle down his side. Sandor was unimpressed. It had hurt worse to get his tattoos.

“I’ll ask you one last time before I trade you for Sansa. Where is Arya Stark?” 

Sandor hesitated. Cersei turned to Sansa, and he blurted out the first words that came to mind.

“We left her in the hotel.”

“What hotel?” 

“A little shitty motel by the road. I don’t remember what it was called. Mountain? Tree? Nature? Lodge? Something like that. Girls were so tired, we just slept at the first place we found. I had to practically carry them in, they were so exhausted.” 

Sandor mentally crossed his fingers that by saying Sansa was asleep, he could prevent her being tortured for the name of a hotel that didn’t exist. 

“Where was the hotel?” 

“About an hour East of the God’s Eye.”

Cersei frowned, and Sandor watched her face closely. Did she believe it?

Cersei walked close and leaned in. If Sandor hadn’t been restrained, he could have sunk his teeth into her carotid. 

“What color were the sheets?” she whispered, her breath hot on his ear. 

“Yellow,” he said at once, remembering the sheets in Sansa’s bedroom at Davos’s house. 

Without another word, Cersei walked over to Sansa and bent down. She shook Sansa lightly until Sansa opened her eyes. 

“Little Dove, do you remember where you spent the night yesterday?” 

Sandor knew Sansa was looking at him, but with the wide restraining band across his forehead, he couldn’t turn or lift his head to mouth the answers to her.

“I—don’t remember much,” she said finally. 

“That’s alright. You must have been very tired,” Cersei crooned. 

“Yes, Mrs. Lannister.”

“What color were the sheets on your bed?” 

Sandor stiffened. 

“They were—blue, I think,” Sansa said, and Sandor closed his eyes in defeat. Sansa had done the same thing he had. His sheets at Davos’s had been blue. 

Cersei smiled. “Thank you, little dove.” 

Cersei walked over to Sandor and struck him across the face. Joffrey guffawed. 

“Blount, let the Hound go,” she said. “He has decided to be uncooperative. I think we will have better luck with the girl.” 

“No!” Sandor said. “I’ll tell you!” 

“No, you won’t,” Cersei snapped. “But she will.” Cersei stepped back as Blount loosened his restraints and Meryn held a gun to his head. Sandor didn’t even wait until he was fully loose; he slipped his arms out of their restraints and broke Blount’s neck. 

A gun went off next to his ear, and a burning pain tore through Sandor’s shoulder. Sansa screamed and tried to run to him, but stopped when Meryn turned the gun on her. 

“You want a taste, little girl?” Meryn sneered. 

“Please, just—let me stop the bleeding,” Sansa begged. Meryn turned to look at Cersei, who gave a dismissive wave of her hand. 

“A dead dog is of no use to us,” she said. “Help the girl. If you get yourself killed like Blount, I will be most displeased. Joffrey, come along.” Cersei climbed the stairs, with Joffrey following on his crutches, leaving Meryn alone.

Sansa flew to Sandor’s side. 

“Please, I need something to stop the bleeding,” she said desperately. 

“You have a shirt,” Meryn leered. Sandor was panting from the pain, trying to hide it from the little bird. He gritted his teeth at Meryn’s words. 

“Just use your hands, Sansa,” Sandor ground out. To his surprise, some of Sansa’s panic seemed to fade. She stood up straight, chin lifted, and looked Meryn in the eye. 

“I need towels. Tweezers. Antiseptic. A needle and thread. And something for the pain,” she said, her voice growing more confident with each word.

Meryn’s lip curled. “Who the fuck do you think you are to be giving me orders girl?” he said. 

“A dead dog is no use to you. Mrs. Lannister said it herself. She doesn’t want him to die. What do you think will happen when I tell her you let him bleed to death, or die of shock?” 

There was silence, broken only by a moan from Sandor, who figured it might help the Lannister cunt’s thought process along. 

“Fine. I’ll be back. Try anything funny and I’ll shoot you both.” Meryn stomped off, his gun aimed at Sandor until he reached the stairs and disappeared through the door. 

“Damn, little bird,” Sandor said, shivering from the cold and blood loss. “Didn’t know you had claws and fangs.” 

“How bad is it?” Sansa asked, placing careful hands on his shoulder and pressing down to stop the bleeding. 

“Ow! Son of a bitch!” Sandor growled, retching at the new pain. He took a deep breath. “It’s not so bad. Think it’s a through-and-through. Back hurts as bad as the front. Stupid bastard couldn’t aim from a foot away. Didn’t put it through the ball and socket. I’ll heal in no time.” 

Sansa smiled. “I can’t believe you killed that guy when you were still restrained.”

Sandor wanted to shrug, but his shoulder was agony. “He got off easy. With that Meryn cunt, I’m gonna make it last.”

Sansa frowned and looked at the floor, avoiding Sandor’s gaze. 

“What is it?” Sandor asked, noticing her expression through his haze of pain. 

“Nothing,” Sansa said, flashing him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s just get you better. Then we can figure out how we’re going to kill them all.” 

 

“I’m not going.” Arya shivered underneath the foil blanket Brienne had wrapped around her shoulders. 

“Arya, this isn’t open for discussion,” Brienne said. “Podrick has already called for backup. They’ll be here any moment.” 

“No!” Arya glared at Brienne, despite the fact that she only came up to Brienne’s waist. “You don’t understand! There’s…somewhere I have to go. Somewhere _we_ have to go.” 

“Whatever it is, it will have to wait,” Brienne said, looking around as a police car with flashing lights pulled up behind the park ranger car. Two officers got out, one stepping aside to talk to Podrick, one crossing the grass toward Arya and Brienne. Arya tensed. If they brought her back to the station, Jon could die before anyone went to look for him. 

Arya yanked on Brienne’s arm, pulling the woman down towards her. 

“My brother,” she whispered, going for broke. “He’s going to die if we don’t go back and save him. But no one can know. The Lannisters think he’s dead. They think I’m missing. If they find out, they’ll kill us both.” She released Brienne and searched her face for any sign that the older woman believed her. Brienne was silent for several moments as the officer approached. 

“Where is your brother?” Brienne asked. Arya hesitated. 

“He’s in the God’s Eye. I’ll tell you where when we’re on our way,” Arya said with a ferocity she didn’t feel. Again, something like pride flashed through Brienne’s eyes. 

“Ranger Tarth? What seems to be the trouble here?” An officer asked as he reached Arya and Brienne. He did a double-take at the bruise on Arya’s face. 

“I was responding to an alarm in the main office when I caught two men trying to abduct this child,” Brienne said. 

“Where’s the boy’s family?” 

“Unknown.”

“Did the men try to steal anything from the office?” 

“No. It appears to be simple vandalism.” 

“Alright, I’ll take the boy in. You can follow with the perps.” 

Arya sidled closer to Brienne. 

“I think I should take him, officer. He’s been through a trauma, and he seems to feel more connected to me.” 

The officer nodded. “We’ll transfer the men to our car.” He left to do just that. Arya stared up at Brienne, wonder in her eyes and suspicion in her voice.

“You didn’t tell him who I am.” 

“As far as I’m concerned, you told me in the car on the way to the station. _After_ we found your brother.” 

Arya’s eyes welled. “Thank you.”

Arya leaned on Brienne’s arm as they walked across the grass, her bad ankle finally giving out on her. The police car pulled out of the drive, lights and sirens blaring, and Arya joined Podrick and Brienne in the car. 

“Now, where to?” Brienne asked. 

“North entrance. He’s alone, and he’s hurt.” 

Podrick shot Brienne a startled look, but Brienne just turned the key and started the car. There was no traffic on the roads this early; the sun had barely cleared the horizon. Arya tried to allow herself to settle back into her seat as they rode. She could hardly believe she was alive, momentarily safe, and on her way back to Jon. But every muscle in her body was tense at the thought of what she might find. Were more Lannister men waiting to ambush her? Had they already found Jon? Was he slowly dying of internal bleeding from the beating he’d taken? Had he frozen to death when it rained and the temperature dropped? 

It only took fifteen minutes to reach the North Entrance, making Arya wonder how far she’d even managed to travel the day before. Brienne pulled in and parked a few spots down from where Jon’s car had been. Arya felt faintly nauseous as images from yesterday rose like ghosts on the grassy stage in front of her. 

“Stay here,” Brienne said, pulling her gun as she and Podrick climbed out of the car. Arya waited until they were halfway towards the wrong tree line before she climbed out too. 

She limped over the grass, hopping on one foot when her ankle gave out. 

“Jon,” She called softly as she reached the left tree line. “Jon?” 

“Arya! Get away from there!” Brienne’s voice floated across the grass, sharp and clear. Arya ignored her, holding onto trees as she ducked her way further into the forest. 

“Jon? It’s me! It’s Arya. I brought the cops, like you said.” She hopped a few feet and fell, catching herself with her arms. Several feet to the right was a cluster of bushes. Arya began to crawl, ignoring the rocks and branches that dug into her knees as she dragged her useless ankle behind her. 

A hand grabbed her and she shrieked, grabbing the nearest branch and rolling to face her attacker. Podrick held up his hands as though Arya was pointing a gun at him instead of a stick. 

“Don’t scare the girl, Pod,” Brienne said, her hand coming around to smack the back of his head lightly. 

“Jon’s in there. Don’t scare him,” Arya said, pointing. 

Brienne cleared the last few feet to the bushes with her giant stride. 

“Podrick!” She snapped, and the boy ran to her side. “Call an ambulance. Now!” 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Arya stumbled to her feet, hurling herself towards the bushes. Brienne caught her just as Arya looked down to see Jon, eyes closed, skin deathly white under the bruising. 

“Jon!” Arya screamed, fighting her way out of Brienne’s arms. “Jon!” 

Podrick, his cell phone at his ear, bent down and placed two fingers on Jon’s neck. 

“He’s got a pulse,” Podrick told Brienne and Arya. Arya collapsed into tears in Brienne’s arms. Brienne gently removed herself, then took off her own Park Ranger jacket and draped it over Jon. 

“He needs water,” Arya sniffled, trying to get a hold of herself. “There was none to leave him with.” 

“They’ll start an IV in the ambulance. It’ll be easier than giving him water unconscious. Right now, we need to talk.”

“Five minutes,” Pod said, looking up from his phone. Brienne nodded, then turned back to Arya. 

“You have five minutes to tell me just what the hell happened to you two.” 

Arya shook her head. “No. We have five minutes to figure out how to keep Jon safe.” 

Brienne looked at her. “Start from the beginning. I saw you on the news. Are you really Arya Stark?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did Sandor Clegane do this to you?” 

“No! Sandor saved us, me and Sansa both.” 

“Where is your sister?” 

“She was kidnapped by the Lannisters. They got Sandor too. I hid in the trees, and they couldn’t find me. They put Jon in the trunk and when they left, I got him out and hid him here. He told me to run and get help, so I ran all night and then I found the clearing with the gift shop, but those men attacked me so I threw rocks through the windows to try to trigger an alarm and then you showed up—“

“ _You_ threw the rocks?” Brienne interrupted. 

“Yes! They were trying to kidnap me. You can’t seriously tell me I’m in trouble for breaking some stupid windows!” 

“No, I was just thinking you’d make a pretty good cop.” 

“But you can’t tell this to the cops. I mean, I will, but you can’t.” 

Brienne frowned. “Why not?” 

“Because you have to stay with Jon! The Lannisters will come back and kill him if they find out he’s alive.” 

“What about you?” 

Arya drew herself up to her full height. 

“I can take care of myself.” 

Brienne tapped her lip with her finger as she considered Arya. 

“I have a better idea.” 

When the ambulance pulled in, Arya was hiding in the trees again. She watched as two EMTs put Jon on a stretcher, her heart breaking at how still he was. 

“My trainee here found him. He’s pretty upset. Thinks he’s a homeless man who likes to hang out here. Mind if Pod rides in with him?” 

“No skin off my back. You know anything about the homeless man?” 

“He’s about 30. Think he’s clean. Never seen a needle. Name’s Edd, I don’t know his last name.” 

“All right, we got him. Thanks for the call, Officer.” 

“Ranger. Brienne’ll do.” 

The two men carried Jon back up the hill as Podrick trotted alongside them. Arya sent up a silent prayer for Jon’s safety as the ambulance pulled out, sirens wailing. The only reason she would even consider letting Podrick be in charge of something so important was the knife he carried with him. Ranger knives were a whole lot bigger than Needle. 

Brienne poked her head into the trees. 

“You know, we really should take you in too. You need to be checked out.” 

“No!” Arya’s eyes flashed. “If the Lannisters find out two ambulances were called to the God’s Eye, they’ll know it’s us for sure!” 

Brienne sighed. “Alright. We’ll give a statement first, then join your brother at the hospital. Fair?” 

Arya didn’t see a better option. Jon was as safe as she could make him right now, anonymous in the hospital with Podrick and his Ranger knife looking out for him. Sansa and Sandor were still out there. If she didn’t at least give a statement, no one would go looking for them. 

“Fair,” she said finally. After a few minutes of hopping, Brienne rolled her eyes and scooped Arya into her arms. 

“You really are tough as nails, aren’t you?” she asked. 

Arya gave her a twisted half-smile. 

“You have no idea.”


	15. The Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and encouragement. I'm so sorry for the delay. Life, you know? It's a real bastard sometimes.  
> Without further ado, here's a nice long chapter to apologize for my absence. <3

Sandor’s head was agony when he woke up on the cement floor, his shoulder and ankle even worse. The last thing he remembered was Sansa pouring something on his wound. The pain was so intense he’d passed out like a quivering mama’s boy on his first day of basic training. 

Gentle hands grabbed his good arm and helped him to sit up. He turned to see Sansa, her brown hair falling over one eye as she leaned over him. Meryn was smirking at them from the far corner.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, examining him from head to toe. 

“Stop your fussing, girl. I’ve been through worse.” 

Sansa was more reassured by his gruff tone than anything else. 

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Sansa turned to see Cersei walking towards them. 

“Excellent. Everyone’s awake. Let’s proceed.” She shot an empty smile at Sandor, who immediately felt a chill as he remembered what had happened. 

“Go to a good place in your head,” he whispered urgently to Sansa. “They can’t hurt you if you aren’t here.” 

Sansa paled, but squared her thin shoulders. “Don’t tell them the truth,” she whispered to Sandor. “No matter what. Promise me.” He nodded, feeling sick as he traded one girl’s safety for the other’s.

“Meryn,” Cersei said. The big man grabbed Sansa by the arm, pulling her to the table. He threw her on it and Sansa let out an involuntary gasp as he strapped her down. Sandor could only watch from where he sat slumped in the corner, weak and dizzy with blood loss. He imagined himself standing, running over to Meryn and choking the life out of him, throwing Sansa over his shoulder and fighting his way out of here with Lannister cunts dropping like flies around him. But in truth he didn’t think he could even make it to his feet. Sansa was on her own, and he hated himself for it. 

“Now,” Cersei said, tucking a strand of hair behind Sansa’s ear. “Tell me. Where is your sister?” 

“I don’t know,” Sansa said, her voice strong and clear. Cersei nodded to Meryn, who took off his belt. Sandor’s fists clenched. 

“Where is your sister?” Cersei asked again. 

“I don’t know,” Sansa repeated, her voice wavering at the slithering of leather. She was trying to build an image in her mind, like Sandor had said. She imagined Winterfell at Christmas, with her whole family exchanging presents by the fire. The thought made her sad.

The sudden lash of a belt across Sansa’s stomach made her cry out.

“Where is Arya Stark?” Cersei snapped. 

“I don’t know!” Another lash fell on her stomach, the buckle biting into her skin. 

“Who else did you tell about Joffrey?” 

“No one!” 

The belt hit her again, and tears sprang to Sansa’s eyes. 

“Where is your sister?” 

“I DON’T KNOW!” Sansa cried, tears falling. Sandor flinched as the belt fell again, raising bloody welts on Sansa’s already bruised abdomen. 

“We _will_ find her, Sansa. We will find her, and we will take care of her. And if you cooperate, we’ll make sure she doesn’t suffer,” Cersei said. Then Cersei leaned in close, whispering in Sansa’s ear. 

“But if you _don’t_ cooperate, I will make sure she dies in more pain than you could ever imagine.” Cersei nodded to Meryn, who lashed out with his belt again and again until the buckle was a blur in a fury of blows. Sandor clenched his fists, expecting Sansa to scream, but she was silent. As she lay on the table, Sansa’s eyes had gone blank. Her mind was filled with a new image; a small house, one-story, with her, and Arya, and Jon, and Sandor sitting together. Just existing. A new, small family. As the lashes fell, the pain felt distant, and Sansa lay there holding tight to the knowledge that she would die to protect that image. To protect those people. 

She lay silent for the rest of the beating, her stomach beaded with blood. Finally Cersei raised her hand, and Meryn stopped. 

“How disappointing,” she said. “Let her go, and stop the bleeding. I shouldn’t think she has much blood to spare. We’ll try again in a few hours.” 

Sansa didn’t move as Meryn unstrapped her from the table and dragged her into the corner near Sandor. He followed Cersei upstairs, and Sandor and Sansa were finally alone. Sandor dragged himself over to where Sansa lay motionless on the ground, his eyes full of sorrow as he looked at the blood blooming in spots through her shirt. The blankness in her eyes terrified him.

“Sansa” he said, bending his face over hers so she could see his eyes. “Sansa. Come back now. It’s safe.” 

Sansa blinked at the sound of his voice, and finally registered the world around her. She shivered violently, unable to stop. 

“Sandor?” 

“I’m here,” he said, smoothing her hair back. She smiled weakly at him before breaking into silent tears.

“Come here,” he said gently, curling up against her and wrapping his arms around her. He felt her tears fall on his wrist as he shushed her, trying to make her feel safe in a place of pain. Slowly but surely she stopped shivering as his warmth heated her back like an oven. She fell asleep, and Sandor wondered how the hell he was going to keep her alive when he couldn’t even stand on two feet to fight. 

 

 

The ride to the police station was over too quickly. Brienne turned off the car and glanced at Arya who stared through the windshield at the police station in front of them. Cops were coming and going, each of their badges promising safety, each of their guns promising death. That was pretty much the whole problem, Arya thought. If she walked in there, was she safe or dead? 

“Are you ready?” Brienne asked. Arya shook her head. 

“I know you’re scared—“ 

“I’m not scared!” Arya scowled. 

“—but I’ll stay with you, if you like,” Brienne finished smoothly. 

Arya bit the inside of her cheek. She had to do this. For Sansa. For Sandor. For herself, even if it was selfish—because she didn’t think she could survive losing any more of her family. 

“Okay,” Arya said at last, opening the door. Brienne rushed around to help her, and Arya leaned on her as she hopped. They pushed their way into the station, and a rush of cold air hit Arya in the face. She sighed as it cooled her hot cheeks and sweaty hair. 

“Can I help you?” A tall, thin man with a weathered face and a stubbly graying beard stood before them, clad in pants and a button-down shirt with rolled up sleeves. A badge was clipped to his belt.

“We need to make statements,” Brienne said, gesturing to Arya. “I interrupted a child abduction this morning. The culprits have already been brought in.” 

The man’s face grew serious. 

“Of course. You must be Ranger Tarth. I’m Detective Mormont. You can call me Jorah. Please follow me.” He looked down at Arya. “Or perhaps he should go to the hospital first?” 

Arya shook her head. With Brienne’s help she made it down a long hallway and into a room with a number “1” on the door. 

Jorah pulled out metal chairs for Arya and Brienne, and another chair for himself on the far side of a metal table. Florescent lights reflected off every surface. Arya took everything in, from the tiled floors to the large mirror on the wall. A camera with a red light shone down on her from the corner of the ceiling. 

“Am I in trouble?” Arya asked. 

Jorah looked up, startled. “Of course not. Why would you ask that?” 

“You put me in the box,” Arya said, crossing her arms. Beside her Brienne coughed as she covered up a laugh. 

“Watch a lot of cop shows, do you?” Jorah asked, sitting down across from her and pulling out a notepad and pen. 

“No. My brother likes them.” She thought of Jon hunched in front of the TV, silently cheering on the good guys. 

Jorah made a note in his pad. Arya broke into a sweat that was instantly chilled by the air conditioning. She had to be more careful. Anyone could be watching. Any word could matter. 

“Liked,” she added. “Robb liked cop shows.” 

Jorah looked up. “Liked?”

“He’s dead,” Arya said flatly. Jorah raised an eyebrow. 

“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he said. “Let’s start at the beginning. And to answer your first question, no, you’re not in any trouble. You’re in “the box” because there’s a leak in the room where we usually do witness interviews.”

Arya stared at him, unsure whether to believe him. It didn’t much matter. If she was in trouble, she’d find out soon enough. She touched the outside of her pocket, feeling the small bulge of Needle. It calmed her. 

“Okay,” she said. Jorah nodded. 

“All right. What is your full name and age?”

“Arya Stark. I’m eleven.” 

Jorah’s head snapped up. He stood and came around to her side of the table, then reached down to hold her hair back from her face. Arya let him do it, glaring up at him with unforgiving eyes until he released her and sat back down. 

“The whole country has been looking for you, little miss,” Jorah said. 

“The whole country can go to hell.” 

“Arya,” Brienne said gently, “he’s trying to help.” 

“I don’t need help. Sansa and Sandor need help!”

“Sansa Stark? Your sister?” Jorah asked, scribbling down on his notepad. 

“Yes! And Sandor Clegane. He rescued us.” Arya told Jorah about the camping trip, Joffrey and Ramsay’s attack on their campsite, how they tortured Sansa and made them run through the woods.

“You got _shot_?” Brienne gasped, looking Arya over as though expecting to see bullet holes. 

“An arrow. Point is—“ Arya was off again, rattling out her tale as quickly as possible. Jorah listened and wrote, his jaw clenched. Brienne looked completely aghast as Arya described their road trip, hiding out, how they were supposed to meet Littlefinger at the God’s Eye. She didn’t mention Davos or Jon. That was the only gift she had to give right now—anonymity.

“What happened when you arrived at the God’s Eye?” Jorah asked. Arya bit her lip. Brienne’s arm brushed hers, and Arya knew it was on purpose. Brienne was letting her know she was by her side. 

“Sandor told us to split up. I hid under the car, then ran through the long grass to the trees when everyone was distracted. Sandor and Sansa were talking to Littlefinger. I was hiding but then I heard shouting and gunshots. By the time I made it back to the tree line, men in black suits were carrying Sansa away. She was screaming, and they took out a little box and touched her with it. She stopped moving. They did the same thing to Sandor. They put them both in the van…” Arya’s voice trailed off. 

“It’s okay, Arya. You’re safe now.” 

To Jorah’s shock, Arya glared up at him with completely dry eyes. 

“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “I’m not a little kid. There’s no such thing as safe.” 

Jorah raised an eyebrow. He glanced at Brienne, who raised both eyebrows back. Jorah cleared his throat.

“What then?” 

“I ran. I ran all night until I heard the dogs barking. The Lannisters brought Ramsay’s hounds. I climbed a tree, and the dog came and scratched it. I heard the men talking. One tried to climb, but he fell. He said there was no one in the tree, and they should knock off and go eat. He mentioned a clearing nearby with a gift shop, but they decided to go to a rest stop on the highway. I waited for a couple hours after they left, then climbed down. My ankle got messed up when I dropped, but I found the clearing. I was almost to the buildings when more Lannister men came out of the trees. I threw rocks through the windows of all the buildings to trigger the alarms or wake up whoever was living there. The men grabbed me. One of them hit me. Then Brienne came.” 

Arya looked up at Brienne. 

“I was notified of the alarm and responded at once since I was in the area. I apprehended the suspects and called the police before transporting Arya to the station.” Brienneadded, her voice calm and authoritative. 

Jorah nodded and sat back in his chair, looking at Arya as he tapped his pen on his notepad. 

“Did Sandor Clegane ever hurt you?” He asked.

Arya slammed her fist on the table. 

“No! Did you listen to one gods-cursed thing I said? It’s the Lannisters! Joffrey Lannister and his family, and his friend, Ramsay Bolton. They have my sister and they’re going to kill her and you _have_ to find her!” 

“Arya, it’s okay—“ Brienne put a hand on Arya’s shoulder, and Arya flinched and wrenched away. 

“What the—?” Brienne asked, noticing the red coating her fingers. Jorah stood up. 

“I’m fine,” Arya snapped. She turned her attention back to Jorah. “Are you going to help Sansa and Sandor?”

Jorah cleared his throat. “I’m going to do my best,” he said, his voice gravelly. Arya held his gaze, evaluating his sincerity. Eventually she sat back, her shoulders slumping a little against her seat. 

“Good,” Arya said simply. “If you don’t find them, they’re dead. And so am I.” 

“You’re with us, now. We’ll keep you safe,” he said, and Arya could tell he really meant it. That was even more depressing than some half-assed reassurances. They sat for a couple minutes as Jorah typed something into his phone. The swish of a message being sent echoed in the room as he finally he sat back in his chair, regarding Arya with an unreadable expression. Arya stared right back. 

“She needs medical care,” Brienne told Jorah. “I’d like to go with her.” 

Arya looked up, surprised. This wasn’t what they’d discussed. Brienne had sat with her through the interview. She’d delivered Jon to the hospital. Brienne didn’t owe her anything. Not by a long shot.

“By all means. We can finish the statements later. I’ll send an officer with you to collect the clothes and any evidence, and to provide protection. Just one second.” 

Jorah left the room, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. Brienne turned to Arya. 

“Are you alright?” Brienne asked. 

Arya scuffed the toe of her shoe against the tile. “Yeah.” 

“You did well. It’ll be okay. You’re not alone.” 

Arya looked up at Brienne, her eyes teary. 

“Yes I am,” she whispered. For the first time since the gunshots, she allowed a tear to fall. She quickly reached up to wipe it away when the door opened. 

“Arya. Brienne. This is Officer Blackwater.”

They turned to see a skinny middle-aged man with dark hair, a close beard, and an impressive mustache. He had his thumbs tucked into his belt, and stood with his chest puffed out. 

“Officer Blackwater came to us on loan from Riverlands P.D. just yesterday. Best person to have on your security detail.” Jorah continued. The officer nodded at them, and chills crawled up and down Arya’s spine at the appraising look he was giving her.

“Call me Bronn,” he said finally. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Arya Stark.” 


	16. Made From Scratch

Sansa was woken by the worst period cramps she’d ever had. Without opening her eyes, she sighed and burrowed closer into the beautiful warmth that enveloped her back. She’d go back to sleep and wait them out. Maybe Mom would call into school for her. 

She felt the warmth inhale and exhale, and a hand began to comb itself through her hair. It wasn’t her mother’s delicate hand; it was big and calloused. Sansa opened her eyes and looked behind her to see Sandor. 

“Hi,” she said quietly, the memory of her mom slipping away in the cold light of the basement. 

“Hi, little bird. You alright?” 

Sansa nodded, ignoring the pains in her stomach. Now that she was awake, it was clear the pain was external, not internal.

“Are _you_ ok?” Sansa asked. 

Sandor chuckled, and she felt the low rumble as a vibration in her own body. “Always worried about everyone else.” 

“I’m the oldest daughter in a family with six kids. I’ve been co-parenting since I was old enough to climb out of my crib.” 

“I can just picture it. You embroidering cloth diapers and making gourmet formula.” 

Sansa laughed softly. “You’re not far off. I was always making somebody something.” 

“Why? Martha Stewart ambitions?” 

“Hardly,” she scoffed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “They already had Robb, who was the perfect son. And then they had all these babies after me that took up all their time. I thought if I could be the perfect daughter, I could…I don’t know. Not get lost in the crowd.” 

Her face fell. Sandor didn’t have to ask what she was thinking. There was no crowd anymore. 

“Can’t have better kids than you and the little wolf,” Sandor said suddenly. “I mean, kids are a pain in the ass through and through, but you know. You two are…less painful.” 

“Thanks?” Sansa said, her eyebrow quirked and her lip twitched in a half-smile. 

“Oh, bugger off. You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Sansa said. “I do.” 

“Hey Sansa?” He asked, trying to avoid the hot feeling creeping up his neck. 

“Yeah?” 

“Could you help me get to the toilet?” 

“Oh! Oh, yeah.” Sansa stood and helped Sandor to his feet. His short chain was just long enough for him to hop across the short part of the room with her and relieve himself while she looked off to the side. Then he stood to her side, with his back to her, as she went while he blocked her from view in case anyone came through the door. They both washed their hands. As he dried his on his pants, Sandor noticed that the lid of the toilet tank had been pushed slightly askew. The morons hadn’t glued it. He grinned. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, nudging Sansa. “Help me back to the toilet and block the view” 

She looked up at him, mystified, but did as he asked. Together they used his good arm and both of hers to lift the toilet tank and place it on the closed toilet seat. Sansa wrinkled her nose as Sandor reached into the murky water, which was growing rancid algae. He quickly found the part he wanted and made short work of disconnecting it from the external handle. The lever arm was a long, thin piece of metal with a bit of chain at one end. He tucked it in his pocket, slightly discomfited by the wetness on the metal that soaked through to his skin. Together Sandor and Sansa lifted the lid back onto the tank, setting it down with a grating thunk. 

They quickly moved over to the sink as a door opened at the top of the stairs. 

“What was that?” Meryn snapped. 

“Sandor fell into the table,” Sansa said calmly. Sandor finished washing his hands and swiped the water over his hips, covering the thin water stain left by the metal piece. 

Meryn’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you both over there? Big boy can’t manage his dick by himself?” 

Sansa blushed. “He needed help walking. His ankle’s quite bad, you see. He can’t even stand without help.” Meryn’s suspicion eased slightly. 

“Sit your asses down,” he said. Then he turned and left the way he came. 

Sandor grinned at Sansa. Clever little bird indeed. His ankle was shit, of course. But he had two legs. Once he was upright, he could do a lot more than stand by himself. Especially if they underestimated him, which Sansa had just ensured they would. 

“What’s your favorite thing in the world?” He asked her as they limped back across the room, Sansa struggling under his weight. 

“Besides my family?” She asked, easing him to the floor. 

“Yeah.” 

“Lemon cakes,” she said simply, and Sandor raised an eyebrow. He would have expected ponies or jewelry or some dumb princess shit like that. 

“Well, when we get out of here, I am going to buy you enough lemon cakes to feed the whole damn city.” 

Sansa shrugged. “I’d rather you teach me how to make weapons from scratch.” 

Sandor laughed until his side ached. “Little bird, I’ll teach you self-defense moves that would make men cry for their mamas.” 

“Promise?” 

“Oh yeah. I promise.” 

 

Arya worried the edge of Needle through her pocket the entire ride to the hospital. She was sitting in the back of a police car, a metal divider separating her from Brienne and Bronn, who was driving. For someone who wasn’t in trouble, they sure were putting her through the Miranda Rights playbook today. 

_You have the right to remain silent_ , she thought as the car pulled into the hospital’s emergency room entrance. It was good advice. She made a mental note to use it. Though since she’d given her statement, she supposed that cat was pretty well out of the bag.

She didn’t say much as Brienne plunked her into a wheelchair, though it stung Arya’s pride. Bronn walked beside them with that strange strut of his, looking around the waiting room, and beyond that, at the cloth cubicles with patient gurneys. He spoke to someone at the desk, and Arya was immediately whisked into one of the cloth things. To her dismay, both Bronn and Brienne waited in it with her until the doctor arrived. 

The cloth was pulled back on its rings like a shower curtain, and a young woman entered. She wore a white doctor’s coat and her blonde hair was piled into a messy bun on top of her head. She was pretty. 

“Hello. I’m Doctor Tyrell, I’m the pediatrician on call. Your name is…Arya?” 

Arya nodded. 

“Nice to meet you. How old are you, Arya?” 

“Eleven.” 

The doctor scribbled on her clipboard again. 

“Okay. What seems to be the trouble today?” 

_My sister has been kidnapped by raping psychos, my brother is lying somewhere in this hospital and if he’s discovered he’ll die, and the only adult who gives a shit about us is probably being tortured by the Lannisters._

Arya exercised her right to remain silent. 

“She has a severely injured left ankle,” Brienne said. “And I think her right shoulder is bleeding.” 

Dr. Tyrell frowned as she scribbled. “I also see a bruise on her cheek. How did that happen?” 

When Arya still didn’t speak, Brienne spoke up again. “She was the target of an abduction this morning. One of the abductors hit her.” 

“Did they hurt you anywhere else, Arya?” Dr Tyrell said, her face still calm but deadly serious. Something about this pretty doctor with her pretty coat and infantilizing manner rubbed Arya the wrong way. 

“They didn’t fuck me if that’s what you mean,” Arya spat. Bronn whipped his head around to look at her. Brienne jumped in her chair, and the doctor was positively alarmed. 

“Are you…quite sure?” the doctor asked. 

“Yes.” Arya crossed her arms. “I just want to get my cast or boot or whatever and go.” 

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” the doctor said gently. “When you’ve been the victim of a crime, we have to collect samples and document your injuries for evidence.” 

Arya sighed, resisting the urge to punch the doctor in the face.

“Do it fast,” she said. 

If the doctor found this request strange, she didn’t say anything. Bronn and Brienne stepped outside and the doctor called in a nurse who handed Arya a small hospital gown and matching pants printed with clowns holding balloons. Arya rolled her eyes. The nurse helped her remove her clothes. When the nurse’s back was turned, Arya slipped Needle out of her pocket and shoved it under the pillow on the gurney. The nurse unlaced her shoes, and Arya grit her teeth when she eased the shoe and sock off her bad ankle. She was impressed by the swelling in spite of herself, but scowled at the thought of how long it would take to heal. Maybe whatever boot they put on it would allow her to run if she needed to. 

They even made her take off her underwear. Arya was sad to see the little superheroes go. 

Then, naked except for hospital underwear and covered only with a sheet, she lay back down on the gurney as the doctor and nurse came back in. The thought of being alone and naked with them made her feel vulnerable, even though she knew she didn’t have anything to fear from them. Still, she found herself speaking up. 

“Could you get Brienne?” she asked, her voice small. The more they treated her like a kid or a victim, the more she felt her sense of herself slipping away. Inside she wished desperately that Sansa was here to hold her hand. Or that she could hold Needle. 

“Arya?” Brienne asked, ducking back in. 

“You don’t have to or anything, but…would you stay?” Arya asked. Brienne was clearly surprised, and a little touched. 

“Of course,” she said. She pulled a chair close to the gurney and held out a hand, letting Arya choose whether or not she wanted to take it. 

“I’m not a baby,” Arya said fiercely. To her surprise, Brienne smiled. 

“I know.” Nothing in her voice was condescending. Arya reached out and took her hand. 

They spent forever taking swabs, clipping Arya’s fingernails, combing through her hair, bagging samples of everything. Just as Arya relaxed, thinking they were done, they began to clean the dirt off her. With every bruise or cut that emerged, the doctor’s faced tensed a little more. Arya wondered if this wasn’t what she was used to doing. She’d said she was on call, after all. Maybe she was a sniffles-and-playground-accident pediatrician. Arya vaguely wondered if the pretty doctor would have puked if she’d seen her and Sansa a couple nights ago. Arya kind of thought she would have.

“Turn please,” the nurse said, and Arya rolled onto her stomach, still holding onto Brienne’s hand. There was a collective gasp in the room, and Arya turned to look behind her. Of course she could see nothing. 

“What?” she asked, wondering if she’d forgotten some injury. She’d fallen on her butt out of a tree, but nothing on her back except—

“What happened to your shoulder?” The doctor asked.

“Oh. I was shot with an arrow.” 

The doctor and nurse exchanged looks. If Sansa had been here, Arya would have enjoyed laughing with her about the dumbfounded expressions on their faces. 

“These don’t look like surgical stitches,” the doctor said, leaning close to examine them. 

“My older sister did them with a sewing kit.” 

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t she just drive you to the hospital?

“Her sister is fourteen,” Brienne cut in, interrupting a red-faced Arya before she exploded all over the doctor. 

“Well, it looks like a few of the stitches ripped. That’s why your shoulder is bleeding. We’ll take them out and put in real stitches.”

Arya almost told her not to. The neat, careful stitches were proof Sansa had saved her life. She liked having a little bit of her sister with her.

“Take a picture of it first,” Arya finally said, and laid back down. They did. By the time they’d finished the exam, taken all the pictures, and fixed her stitches, Arya was exhausted. She got dressed in her embarrassing clown hospital clothes, slipping Needle into her underwear since there was nowhere else to hide it. She said nothing as an orderly took her to X-Ray, or as she waited for the results. When she was finally told she had a fractured ankle, she held still as the doctor made her a walking cast. Her thoughts were everywhere, but her mind was numb with exhaustion. They only thing she really wanted to know was where her family was, and whether or not they were okay. 

“Can you check on the homeless man?” Arya whispered to Brienne. “Without letting _anyone_ know?” 

Brienne nodded. “Will you be okay here?”

Arya thought about it and decided to kill two birds with one stone. She didn’t trust Bronn, so she might as well keep an eye on him. 

“Can you ask Bronn to wait with me?” 

Brienne agreed and left the little patient cube, only to find that Bronn had left. She walked down the hallway, looking for him until she heard his voice floating through the mostly-closed door to a separate hallway. 

“You owe me a hell of a debt, boss. I don’t see how you’re going to pay it back this time.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think. I'm doing NaNoWriMo and a writing class so I am all words all the time right now.


	17. Make Your Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this has taken forever--I hope it doesn't disappoint.

 

He came back to consciousness in drips and drabs. A beep, the squeak of shoes in the hallway, the far-off echo of an intercom. He cracked his eyes opened and winced at the bright light. Something was in front of his face—something was in his mouth—

Jon started pulling at the tube, making the machines around him beep their disapproval. A hand reached out and stilled Jon’s, and he looked up wildly, trying to find the person. A face bent down over him, and Jon’s brow wrinkled in confusion. The guy bending over him was just a kid—probably a few years younger than Jon. He had round cheeks and brown hair, and didn’t look at all like a Lannister hitman. He looked more like a cuddly hamster in human form.

“You’re in the hospital,” the guy said. “I’m Podrick. I’m a trainee Ranger at the God’s Eye.” Then he lowered his voice. “Your sister said to tell you she’s a fast runner,” he whispered. 

Jon’s eyes teared. He held up a hand and made an “o” and “k” in sign language. Then he looked at the kid desperately. 

“Yeah, you’ll be alright. You had severe exposure and dehydration, and you took a hell of a beating, but—“ Podrick stopped as Jon shook his head the best he could while intubated. 

“Oh—yeah, she’s alright. She’s with the police, and the ranger who found her. She’s a tough little thing. Real smart too.”

Jon’s eyes crinkled. After a second, he tapped the tube in his throat. 

“I’ll ask the doctor,” Pod said, standing. He paused and leaned over Jon, speaking quietly. 

“Your name is Edd, by the way. You’re 30. Homeless. You were sleeping at the park. You understand?” 

Jon’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Your sister’s idea. Keep you safe, so you two couldn’t be linked. You know, you really ought to get her some hobbies or something. She’s like a junior G-man.” 

Jon’s face relaxed, and he nodded. Podrick tapped a button on Jon’s gurney to call the nurse. Jon was lost in thought. Arya had really done it. She’d saved him from the car, run all night through the woods alone, brought someone back to get him, and still came up with a plan to keep him safe. 

But what if _she_ wasn’t safe? What if she was in danger, and there was no one to help her because Jon was in here? 

In that moment, he hated himself. He let his eleven-year-old sister fight his battles. He needed to get out of this hospital, find Arya, and run before the Lannisters could get to them. He ran through the list of things they’d need. Money. Papers. Food. Shelter. He had none of that. Everything, down to his last pair of clothes, had been in the car which was now underwater in the God’s Eye. For a minute he felt guilty at the thought of having to tell Sam that the car he’d loaned Jon was at the bottom of the lake. Then he shook it off. If he did his job, he’d probably never see Sam again. Though the thought pained him, he knew he only had one focus—getting Arya and Sansa, and getting the hell out of here. 

A little voice in his heart asked him if Sansa was already lost. Would he get one sister killed trying to save the other? 

No, he decided. If it came down to it, if they were in imminent danger, he would take Arya and run. No matter the cost. 

If only he could keep his eyes open…

 

They went over the plan a hundred times in hushed whispers, trying to hash out every eventuality. What if the men hurt Sandor’s other ankle? What if they brought more men into the basement? Would the Lannisters risk shooting Sansa or Sandor before they got the answers they wanted? And what was waiting for them upstairs?Most of the questions didn’t have an answer, and they both knew it. But Sandor laid it out in the calm, matter-of-fact way he’d detail a mission for his men. They _would_ do this. They _would_ take out their enemies. They _would_ get the fuck out of dodge. And above all, they _goddamn WOULD make it home._

Sansa listened to everything with a solemn expression, her face serious but calm. In that moment, Sandor felt like he understood this teenage girl. She could handle any plan except no plan. Any feeling except hopelessness. He got that. 

When the talk petered out, they sat together in silence. 

“I just want you to know…I’m not sorry,” Sansa said, her eyes closed as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. 

“Hmm?” Sandor asked, the word humming into her hair. 

“I mean, I’m sorry that we messed up your life. I’m sorry you’re here because of me. But—I’m glad I met you.” 

Sandor’s throat tightened, and he was mortified to feel tears threatening. 

“You didn’t mess up my life, little bird,” he said gruffly. “The only thing I’d change is…” he trailed off. Sansa turned to look at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“I would’ve risked the damn airport,” Sandor admitted. To his surprise, Sansa laughed. 

“What’s so funny?” He asked, giving a puzzled half-smile. 

“It’s just—I’ve always been so afraid of flying!” she said, and she grinned as Sandor’s stomach bounced her with his laughter. 

A door opened at the top of the stairs, and they began struggling to their feet, but the man only chucked a bottle of water and a couple protein bars at them. 

“Mrs. Lannister is dealing with some urgent business,” the guy said. “She’ll be back shortly.” 

He left, and Sansa silently retrieved the food and water. 

“Should we eat it?” She asked Sandor. He squeezed the water bottle looking for leaks, and held the bars up to the light, looking for pinprick holes in the packaging. The bars were sealed, but the ring on the water bottles was a little too loose. He chucked it away from them. It would be just like that cunt Cersei to put some kind of truth agent in the water.

“Eat up, Sansa,” he said, passing her one of the bars. “We’re going to need our strength.” 

 

Arya kicked her legs against the end of the gurney, watching the slow drip of an IV make its way down the tubing to her hand. She didn’t understand why the doctors couldn’t just give her water to drink, but they’d insisted. She was dehydrated, her urine was too concentrated, blah blah blah. At least they’d finally brought her some food. She’d attacked the little cracker packets and the jello cups, and requested about 100 more. Brienne volunteered to go to the cafeteria and get something more substantial. She’d winked at Arya on her way out, and Arya knew she was going to try to track down Jon. She fidgeted a bit, wondering for the thousandth time if he was okay. She’d never, ever forgive herself if she’d been too late. 

“Got ants in your pants, girl?” Bronn said from the chair beside her, not looking up from his newspaper. 

“I’m bored. Sue me.” 

“What am I gonna sue ya for? You got a bunch of gold buried somewhere?” 

Arya snorted. “Everything I own is gone.” 

Bronn shrugged and turned the page. “Guess there wouldn’t be much point then.” 

Arya bit the inside of her cheek, considering him. She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, but she had things she needed to know. 

“The other cop said you’re from Riverlands P.D.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“You read my file?”

“Aye.” 

“You saw the campsite?” 

“Aye.”

“Have there been funerals?” 

“Nope. Bodies still at the M.E.”

“Did they find any evidence?” 

Bronn turned the page again, but he didn’t appear to be reading any longer. “Nope. Rain.” 

Arya nodded. She hadn’t really expected there to be anything left. But that did make her wonder…

“What about the other campsite?” 

Bronn looked up at her. “What other campsite?” 

“Ramsay’s and Joffrey’s.” 

Bronn looked at her warily. “You were there?” 

Arya was confused until she realized that Bronn hadn’t been in the room for her statement. 

“Yeah.”

He put his paper down, his eyes trained on Arya’s. “Were you on the ground or on the tree?” 

Arya glared at him. “You answer my question first.” 

“No, we didn’t find any evidence. It was all washed away.” 

“Then how do you know someone was on the ground and someone was on the tree?” 

Bronn’s eyes narrowed. “You know you’re awful smart for a little girl. Smarter than you should be, maybe.” Arya held his gaze as a chill crawled up her spine. She’d suspected, but now she was sure. This was a Lannister man.

She half expected him to lunge for her then and there, but he only sat back in his chair, his legs crossed, his shoulders stiff. There was nothing she could do but stare him down. The room grew thick with tension. If she asked him to leave the room, he’d know she knew. At the very least, she wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on him. He could call for backup. 

A light sweat broke out on Arya’s back. Maybe he already had. 

“What do you want with me?” she finally asked, careful to keep her voice steady and clear. 

Bronn shrugged and relaxed back in his seat. 

“It’s not about what _I_ want girl. I’m an officer. I get orders and I carry them out.”

He stood up and stretched, dropping the folded newspaper on the seat behind him. 

“I’d remind you not to wander off,” he said, looking down at Arya with a nasty gleam. “But I don’t think you’ll get too far on that foot.” Then he pulled back the curtains and disappeared, leaving Arya feeling as winded as if she’d fallen out of another tree.

 

When the door opened, Sandor was leaning back against the wall, eyes half-closed, his hands limp in his lap. Sansa curled up beside him, tucking herself safely in the corner the way they’d discussed. 

Meryn held the door open for Cersei. She floated down the stairs, each click of her shoes ominous against the wood. 

“Feeling shy, are we?” Cersei said, tilting her head as she observed Sansa. “I’m afraid I really don’t have the time for your antics.” Cersei flicked her hand at Meryn, who pulled his gun on Sansa. 

In response, Sansa pressed herself into Sandor’s side, and curled up even smaller, shaking as though terrified out of her wits. 

“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Sansa said. “Just please, don’t hurt us anymore.” 

Cersei smiled. “Where is your sister?” 

“By now she’s probably at the Canadian border. We told her if we weren’t back for her in three hours, to take a bus up to Maine and sneak across.” 

Cersei’s smile turned into a sneer. 

“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” Cersei asked. 

“What—what do you mean?” 

“You were never going to win, little dove. I have men searching every building around the God’s Eye for miles. I received the most interesting call an hour ago. Your sister is at Memorial Hospital. We’ve already sent some men to greet her.”

Sansa went white. Sandor’s hands were shaking with fury. 

“Jon?” She whispered. 

“They’ll never find him.” 

Sansa moaned, tears soaking her shirt. 

“Unfortunately for you, I still have questions,” Cersei said, her gaze devoid of any pity or compassion. “Come here.” 

Sansa didn’t move. Sandor wasn’t sure if she was following the plan, or still in too much shock to move. 

“Meryn, get the girl,” Cersei said dismissively. “Don’t be gentle.” 

Meryn approached cautiously, his gun aimed at Sandor. He reached down to grab Sansa by the arm. 

Quick as lightning, Sandor grabbed Meryn’s gun and twisted it out of his grasp. Meryn struggled fiercely in his grip as Sandor fired a bullet into his gut. Meryn fell back, sliding down the wall next to Sansa, who scuttled out of the way. Sandor turned the gun on Cersei, only to find her running up the steps. Sandor aimed and fired, but the bullet ricocheted off the ceiling. He fired again, and a string of high-pitched curses followed as she flung herself out the door. 

“Sansa?” Sandor panted, holding his gun on the door. “Sansa, talk to me.” 

She was so pale he thought she might faint. 

“Don’t check out on me now,” he warned. “If we get out of here, we can warn Arya.” 

That broke Sansa from her stupor. She looked around and jumped at the sight of Meryn’s body on the ground. 

“Um, Sandor?” Sansa said, her voice quivering. “I think he’s still alive.” Meryn was gasping for air, blood spreading across his shirt. The bullet had clearly pierced the diaphragm. 

“He won’t be for long,” Sandor said. “Leave him. He doesn’t deserve another bullet.” 

Sandor half thought Sansa would protest, but she didn’t.“What happens now?” she asked instead, watching as Meryn writhed and went still.

Sandor grimaced. “We go diving for treasure.” 

At Sandor’s instruction, Sansa went over to Meryn’s corpse with trembling hands. His gun holster was empty, the contents now in Sandor’s hands, but a second one on his ankle had the tiniest gun Sansa had ever seen. It could have belonged to Militia Barbie. She handed it to Sandor too and went through Meryn’s pockets, front and back. At last she pulled up a ring of keys, the metal jangling in the quiet. Her eyes gleamed. 

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, inserting the first key into Sandor’s ankle cuff. 

“Better do it fast, little bird,” Sandor said. “Backup’s coming.” 


End file.
